


Evolution

by hawthorn_and_holly (bigblueboxat221b)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Developing Relationship, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Lots of other Hogwarts based characters, M/M, Post-War, Slow Burn, just the usuals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-05-08 23:09:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14704413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/hawthorn_and_holly
Summary: Evolution (n). The gradual development of something.Harry is offered the chance to return to Hogwarts. He jumps at the opportunity for some quiet solitude in the weeks before the academic year begins. To his surprise, he is not the only one seeking to make new memories and perhaps redefine some old relationships in the process.





	1. Opportunity

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy. Settle in, because this is going to be a long, slow burn, taking us well through Harry and Draco's Christmas break. I hope you enjoy the ride :)

The owl from McGonagall was one of the most important pieces of post Harry had ever received, his acceptance to Hogwarts notwithstanding. He’d been woken by the clacking of her beak on his window, loud in the pre-dawn light. He stumbled out of bed, shoving glasses onto his still sleepy face, groping in the pockets of the jacket he’d slept in for a knut or two to pay her. Blinking away the sleep, Harry’s heart sped up at the Hogwarts crest pressed into the seal. The handwriting was vaguely familiar but there were few people from Hogwarts who would be writing to Harry. The address was clear – _Mr. Harry Potter, The Attic, The Burrow, Ottery St-Catchpole, Devon._ It was odd to see a Hogwarts letter still addressed in emerald green; he generally associated the colour with Dumbledore. Harry ripped it open and a sheaf of parchment fell out. As he flicked through the sheets, his jaw dropped open. Hands slightly shaking, Harry sat down, fumbling his way back to the first page – a letter addressed to him.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_With the recent disruption to the school environment, the staff of Hogwarts have decided to offer students the opportunity to repeat one year of their schooling in order to maximise their future opportunities. Our records indicate you have not completed your N.E.W.T. studies at this time._

_If you would be interested in re-enrolling as an Eighth-Year student with a view to sitting N.E.W.T.s at the end of the coming academic year, we would be pleased to have you. A booklist is enclosed, along with information regarding your studies, accommodation and changes to school policies. If the provision of books, robes, a wand or other equipment is problematic, please contact the school as funds are available to support students who have been affected by recent events in the wizarding community._

_Should you require accommodation earlier than the beginning of term, kindly send an owl as soon as possible to inform us of your travel plans. Please remember that all students, past and present, may rely on Hogwarts as a place of ongoing support, regardless of their situation. Should we be able to assist you in any way, contact any member of staff for an immediate response._

_We await your owl no later than August 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress_

 

Harry blinked and re-read the letter. Was it serious?

“Harry!”

At the sound of feet clattering on the stairs, Harry knew the others must have received similar letters. Ron and Hermione burst into the room, chattering excitedly, and he let them sweep him downstairs, where more of the Weasleys had collected in the kitchen. It was the most noise he’d heard here since the Battle; the loss of Fred had silenced the happy bustle of the house. Even the extra guests – Hermione and Harry returned to the Burrow immediately from Hogwarts – had not raised the noise level. Hushed whispers and choked sobs had become the norm; even now, weeks later, it wasn’t uncommon to walk into a room and find someone crying, either alone or in the arms of another. He sat and listened as everyone else spoke, watching shaking fingers clutch at parchment – Ginny’s, Ron’s, Hermione’s, George’s and his own. Everyone that would have been a student last year, plus George. Harry wondered if McGonagall had intervened there, given the colourful manner in which Fred and George had announced their departure from Hogwarts almost two years earlier.

From the sound of it, just about everyone was considering returning; only George and, to his surprise, Ginny, were talking about turning down the offer. It sounded as though she and George had been talking about continuing Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes together. While Ginny lacked George’s enthusiasm for jokes and pranks, she was far more business savvy than he.

As Harry watched her he realised they were already starting to take different paths. For him, there was no question about returning to Hogwarts. It was more of a home than anywhere he’d ever been, and right now, it meant comfort and a familiarity he needed desperately. The Weasleys were like family of course, but as they all grieved the loss of Fred, Harry felt the distance keenly. He had not known Fred as a boy, did not remember the family moments discussed as they tearily reminisced. He wondered if Hermione felt the same; perhaps her relationship with Ron made her feel closer than Harry felt. Either way, he wanted to return to Hogwarts for a while before…whatever came next.

+++

As it turned out, Harry returned to Hogwarts far sooner than he’d anticipated. The morning the letters had arrived, after the group had drifted apart, he and Ginny had ended up sitting alone at the kitchen table. He’d asked her about her plans with George, and as her quiet voice outlined their ideas, Harry knew he would never ask her to resume what they’d had. They were both broken, but while he wanted to go back to seek some comfort in the familiar before deciding what his life would hold, she was looking forward, seeking new challenges. When she stopped talking, he’d told her how great it sounded, and the look she gave him told Harry everything he needed to know. She knew they were over, too. He wouldn’t have to try and explain.

That day he’d written to McGonagall accepting his place at Hogwarts and asking how early he could arrive. Ron and Hermione hadn’t understood why he was leaving so early; in truth, he didn’t explain too deeply, not wanting to offend any of them by insinuating he felt excluded.

“Just need some time to myself, you know?” Harry had said, and though they had nodded, he could see they really didn’t understand. He’d smiled lamely and turned to pack.

Two days later, Harry left the Burrow. He’d elected to spend a few days at the Leaky Cauldron, picking up what he needed in Diagon Alley and visiting Gringotts. It was remarkable how quickly the long crooked street had recovered, he thought, sitting at what had been Florean Fortescue’s Ice-cream Parlour. Florean had not returned after the War, and a nephew of his had taken over the business. Harry thought he would always like Florean’s sundaes better, but he didn’t tell Felix that. He sat at a corner table, eating his ice-cream slowly and watching people walk by. He’d cast a Disillusionment charm over himself, as was his habit when going out in public in the wizarding world. The attention he garnered was slowly dying down, but it didn’t hurt to be a little inconspicuous. All things considered, he’d rather not be famous for killing the man who had killed not only his parents but most of the people he’d come to rely on. Nothing would bring back Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Dobby, Dumbledore, or the scores of others whose deaths were the result of Tom Riddle’s fear and arrogance. The last thing Harry wanted was to relive it with every person who passed him by.

+++

The day before he was due to leave – he’d chosen to Apparate to Hogsmeade before walking up to the castle – Harry gritted his teeth and braved Diagon Alley without Disillusioning himself. It was too difficult to catch the shopkeeper’s attention when he was Disillusioned; only a hard pinch to Felix made him focus enough on Harry to notice him. Harry felt himself shrink as curious eyes tracked him, the whispers following him down the street; he concentrated so closely on the booklist that he walked right into someone coming out of Knockturn Alley.

“Harry!” Harry braced for another onslaught of questioning, but to his relief it was the round face of Neville Longbottom that looked back at him.

“Neville,” Harry said with genuine pleasure. He’d not seen anyone since the day after the War had ended; all he knew about Neville was that he and his gran were both alive. “How are you?” They moved out of the traffic, finding a small nook to continue their conversation.

“Well, yeah,” Neville said, with the nonspecific answer everyone seemed to use nowadays. Harry always interpreted it as ‘terrible, but isn’t everyone? At least I’m alive,’.

“Me and Gran are just straightening everything out at home. She hates to admit she’s getting older, and things recently weren’t easy.” Understatement of the year, Harry thought wryly.

“Are you coming back to Hogwarts?” Harry asked. He was surprised at the shy grin that came over Neville’s face at the question.

“Kind of,” Neville said in his unassuming way. “Professor Sprout visited me last week. She’s wanted to retire for a while now, and,” his face grew even redder as he admitted, “she offered me a job. I’ll be helping her in the greenhouses and in a few years I’ll hopefully take over.”

Harry was filled with something he couldn’t identify for a moment, then realised it was joy. He was pleased for Neville. “Wow, that’s great,” he said, making an effort to grin broadly at the still blushing Neville. “What does your Gran think about it?”

“She’s proud as anything,” Neville said, the amazement evident in his voice. “Told everyone at her Walking Witches group. I can’t wait, it will be so good to just…” he trailed off.

“Yeah,” Harry said. A small part of him was envious of Neville, who appeared to have the ideal job just dropped in his lap. But seeing the shy pride in Neville’s face put paid to that. “Well I’ll be seeing you there,” Harry told him, “I’m coming back to do N.E.W.T.s.”

Neville’s eyes lit up. “Really? That’s excellent!” He hesitated. “Do you think you’ll take Herbology?”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry said immediately. He hadn’t really thought about what he would study – he assumed he would pick up where he left off, which meant Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, and Herbology.

“Great! Well I’m just off to try and find some Venomous Tentacula seeds, we used them all up, you know,” Neville said. Another Battle reference, Harry understood. People had become experts at Not Mentioning The War, and most people were equally good at Understanding What You Meant When You Were Not Mentioning The War.

“Okay, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, then,” Harry said. He and Neville parted ways and he felt much better about returning to school. At least there would be one friendly face he could talk to if he needed to. Harry pulled out his booklist again and made his way towards Gringotts, avoiding Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes without thinking about it. He would need to start from scratch when it came to school supplies; it was a good thing his vault was so well-stocked. At least he wouldn’t need to buy a wand, though Ollivander had opened his shop immediately after Voldemort’s fall. He’d been quoted in The Quibbler as saying he felt at home nowhere more than in his shop, surrounded by old friends. Harry knew the feeling. He’d visited with the old man earlier in the week, talking of nothing in particular. Harry had shown him his repaired wand, over which the gnarled fingers had passed with a tenderness usually reserved for small babies.

“I am pleased for you, Harry,” Ollivander had said. “The two of you bonded so deeply, I doubt you would find satisfaction with any other.” Harry had to agree. Right now, he was just pleased it was one thing he didn’t have to buy. As it was he had a long list: trunk, complete sets of robes, broomstick, quills and ink, books and equipment as well as potions ingredients to buy. And that wasn’t including the Muggle money he’d spent on new Muggle clothes and shoes and a new pair of glasses (he’d asked for the exact same frames as his old ones – it was one small thing he could keep the same). Most of the shops were happy to send his purchases on to Hogwarts, which would make his walk from Hogsmeade up to the castle far easier.

At Madame Malkin’s, his last stop, Harry arranged for his new robes to be sent to Hogwarts. As he turned towards Fortescue’s Ice-Cream Parlour, a movement caught his eye. Harry stepped towards the window, a wave of sadness coming over him as he stared into the window of Eeylops Owl Emporium. It would be so strange being at Hogwarts without Hedwig; he’d missed her more being back at the Burrow than any-time since she’d died. The familiar space accentuated her absence, he supposed, watching a barn owl stretch its wings restlessly. He turned away, the good feeling after seeing Neville now wiped out between the low level of anxiety he felt in the whispering crowd and seeing the owls. He’d go back to the Leaky Cauldron, make sure his brand new trunk was packed for tomorrow, and get a good night’s sleep. It was bound to be draining, returning to the castle.

 


	2. Decision

The sensation was never comfortable, though it was now familiar. Harry gasped as the crushing pressure relented and he opened his eyes, relieved he’d managed to Apparate without Splinching himself. The light was dimmer here than in London, plus he’d Apparated right out of his room to the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Looking around to orient himself, Harry recognised where he was – it was the lane where he had once tried to fool Malfoy. Wearing the Cloak he’d thrown snowballs at Malfoy in retaliation for the foul stuff he’d been saying to Ron and Hermione. He’d thought the memory would make him smile, but it did not. The whole thing was so silly now, compared to the events of the past few years. Why hadn’t he just ignored Malfoy? They’d been almost as bad as each other, really, neither missing an opportunity to throw nasty looks or retaliate for any given slight. Such schoolboys, Harry thought. How much older he felt now, though it was barely twelve months since the end of sixth year.

There was no snow now – it was summer, after all – and Harry looked down the hill at the township. He’d aimed for somewhere out of the main street, not knowing if he’d want to head into town or make his way immediately up to the castle. The last time he was here, he, Ron and Hermione had Apparated right into the middle of the town square, setting off the Caterwauling Charm in their desperate race to the Horcrux hidden at Hogwarts. Only Aberforth had saved them from the Death Eaters that night. Harry shook off the shiver that made its way up his spine at the fear that still prickled at the memory. He would have to visit Aberforth to pay his respects, thank the man for what he did – saved their lives, saved the whole world, probably. Now, though, Harry just wanted to get himself settled into wherever it was the school would be housing the Eighth-Year students. He hadn’t received a response from McGonagall but assumed she was expecting him; the letter had been quite emphatic that any student would be welcomed should they need assistance.

As he strode along the path away from Hogsmeade, Harry wondered if that extended to Slytherin House students. Most of them were entirely innocent, of course, but others…a small part of his brain reminded him that they too had lost friends in the Battle – Crabbe had died almost in front of Harry, and _The Daily Prophet_ had said other senior students had returned to the castle to support Voldemort. Harry remembered too, that several Death Eaters had been sentenced either to imprisonment or banishment, their wands snapped, turned out of the wizarding world forever. His face was impassive as he thought of the waste of life. The only thing he could do now was look forward, try and move forward.

It wasn’t as easy as all that of course, for The Boy Who Saved The World, as The Daily Prophet has proclaimed him. As if The Boy Who Lived wasn’t bad enough. He’d stopped reading it after that, having no need for anything the blatant exaggeration had to offer. The net result was that he couldn’t walk down any wizarding street without being recognised. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but while he’d previously had to endure taunts, nasty looks or mistrustful glances, Harry found the air of guilt much harder to bear. The first day he’d been in Diagon Alley, several people had asked his forgiveness for their previous disbelief in his story; still others had thanked him for his efforts. It was more difficult than he’d anticipated, hence his new habit of donning the Cloak. If it didn’t die down, how would he find work? Unless he mastered disguises, Auror work would be difficult (the memory of Tonks and her different noses made him smile briefly), and what else was there he wanted to do? Nothing he had considered captured his interest (and there had been hours and hours at The Burrow and Fortescue’s Ice-Cream Parlour). As it was, he had decided to study for his N.E.W.T.s with Ron and Hermione and decide later in the year. If nothing else, the qualification would allow him more options.

His reminiscences had brought Harry to the edge of the grounds now. The fences had been repaired in the weeks since the Battle, and he stepped hesitantly across the threshold. Automatically his gaze travelled down to Hagrid’s hut; there was no sign of life, though the vegetable patch was thriving. Harry’s eye was caught by a low stone building that sat beside Hagrid’s Hut, its length skirting the edge of the Forest. He wondered if that was where the Eighth-Year students would be housed. The house dormitories would be full; there would have to be some addition somewhere.

Having not spied Hagrid, Harry instead made his way to the main doors. It was strange, arriving in the middle of the day on his own. The castle was quieter than he remembered; even on the days he’d had to stay behind while others visited Hogsmeade, younger students were still around. As he stood in the entrance hall, Harry wondered if he would pause at every room to adjust his view of the space. Memories flooded over him, from his time as a student and the Battle alike. It was a struggle to reconcile those images with this quiet, tidy space, empty as it was. Even the ghosts were nowhere to be seen. His footsteps were loud as he crossed the flagstones, and it was only the murmur of the portraits that accompanied him on his way up to the Headmistress’ Office. The gargoyle had been fixed; it stood as impassive as ever, awaiting the password.

“Er,” Harry said, realising he hadn’t a clue what the password could be. Dumbledore had used types of sweets; what would McGonagall use? As Harry considered her, an image of her tartan dressing gown rose in his mind. “Tartan?” he said tentatively, jumping a little as the gargoyle leapt aside. Okay, still very Scottish, he thought. It was a comforting thought. Some things should not change.

“Enter,” McGonagall’s voice sounded from inside after Harry knocked. He couldn’t stop his eyes raking over the room as he stepped through the door; it was largely the same as it had been Last Time. All his memories were comparisons with Last Time, he was realising; some were more difficult than others. That was part of his reason for returning, of course – to replace some of those terrible images with quieter ones. As he glanced up at the portraits, a few waved and one or two appeared to ignore him. Dumbledore was asleep, glasses sliding sideways off his nose.

“Good morning, Potter,” McGonagall’s voice pulled him out of his reverie.

“Good morning, Professor,” Harry replied automatically. Like the rest of the room, Minerva McGonagall looked exactly the same as Harry remembered. Oddly, his brain supplied the memory of Before, when she had been a teacher, his Head of House; not the wild-haired woman leading a herd of galloping desks down a hallway, blood streaming down her cheek.

“Have a seat, Potter. Have you eaten?” Harry sat and nodded. Professor McGonagall waved her wand anyway, a tea set and plate of sandwiches appearing on the desk.

"Help yourself.” She directed him, pouring them both tea. “How did you find Apparating?”

“Fine,” he said thickly through a ham and chicken sandwich.

McGonagall frowned. “While I’m glad you didn’t Splinch yourself, you will have to sit the Exam this year, Potter. You do need to be licenced to Apparate.” Harry nodded. “Just sign yourself up and you can skip the course,” she continued. Harry nodded again, a flash of memory – hoops on the floor, a voice trilling, “Destination , Determination, Deliberation”. “Thank you, Professor,” he managed finally.

She shook her head, tut-tutting as she sipped at her tea. “Everything’s still higgledy-piggledy,” she said, and Harry understood what she meant.

“Thank you for having me back, Professor,” he said, fiddling with his teacup.

McGonagall’s expression softened as she watched him. “Of course,” she said. There was a pause. “Life does go on, Potter.” Her voice was quieter, the Scottish accent more pronounced in the silence of her office. Even the portraits were quiet, most of the frames empty as they had drifted into other portraits in other rooms. “It’s never quite the same, but it does go on.”

Harry nodded automatically. He’d heard many variations on the idea over the last week in particular. The fact was clear enough, but how to do it was the question he kept asking himself. Casting around for something to change the subject, he blurted, “I ran into Neville Longbottom in Diagon Alley.”

Professor McGonagall made a noise of approval. “Yes, he and Professor Sprout will do well together, I think. She has been talking about retiring for years. Mr. Longbottom is the first student she feels has the necessary skill and enthusiasm to carry on the greenhouses to her standard.”

Harry smiled. “Neville was pretty excited. He said his Gran was proud of him.”

“As she should be,” McGonagall replied briskly.

There was an awkward silence, so Harry changed the subject once again. “Are many others coming back for Eighth-Year, Professor?”

McGonagall accepted the change of subject with grace, her tone becoming more business-like as she sat up straighter. “A number of students have expressed interest in returning,” she told him. “We will be a bit crowded this year, I think.”

“I saw a new building near Hagrid’s,” Harry said. “Is that…”

“That is the Eighth-Year dormitory, yes,” McGonagall confirmed. “I’ll be speaking to each student as they arrive. You read the information in your letter, I trust?” Harry nodded. He’d wanted every bit of information he could get his hands on.

“Good. Then you know there have been some changes at Hogwarts. Traditions are all well and good, but if we cannot see the error of our ways and change…” she shook her head. “I do not believe that tenacious ideas are necessarily more worthy than new ones,” and Harry saw the prim mouth tighten a little. It was comforting in its familiarity.

Clearing her throat, she went on, “So far we have ten Eighth-Year students confirmed for this year. You will all be housed together in the Eighth-Year dormitories. You will find your things in the boys’ dormitory. There is a Floo fireplace set up, connected to all the House Common Rooms so you may visit at your convenience.” She gave him one of her most severe looks. “As you are all of age, it has been decided to allow Eighth-Year students markedly more autonomy than other students. You may visit Hogsmeade at your leisure; we only ask that you let someone know where you are, and that you dine each evening with the rest of the school. Drunkeness will not be tolerated.” Her look deepened, and Harry hastened to nod emphatically. “You will attend N.E.W.T. classes with the Seventh-Years; timetables will be distributed as usual before classes commence.” She thought for a second as though trying to remember what else Harry needed to know. “Questions, Potter?”

Harry shook his head. “No, Professor.” He glanced around, still absorbing the idea that he was back at Hogwarts. “Oh,” he said, a question coming to him as he stood up to leave. “When are the other Eighth-Years coming?” The phrase sat oddly in his mouth – anything after Seventh-Year sounded strange.

“I’m sure you know Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger are returning?” she asked, then continued, “They are expected on the Hogwarts Express, as are,” she consulted a list conjured from mid-air, “Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Terry Boot, Padma Patil, Daphne Greengrass and Ernie MacMillan.” Harry nodded. He wondered why Parvati was not returning, but dreaded the answer. So many people didn’t made it through the Battle. Instead he went back over the names. He knew all of them to talk to except Daphne, a Slytherin. It was a relief she was the only Slytherin; perhaps it would mean a quieter year.

Before he could open his mouth, McGonagall continued. “There is one other student who has already arrived.” She looked at him for a moment, and with a burst of foresight, Harry knew who she was going to name.

“Not Malfoy,” he found himself saying.

“Draco Malfoy arrived several days ago,” she told him. Harry blinked in disbelief. “I know you and he have…history,” the Headmistress added, “and I know,” she held up a hand, stopping his protestations, “I _know_ , Potter. But as I said in the letter you all received, _all_ students may rely on Hogwarts as a place of ongoing support.” Harry knew his face was showing his anger and shock at the news.

“I have spoken to Dumbledore,” McGonagall went on. “He has appraised me of Draco’s home situation while he was a student here. It was not an easy environment in which to grow up, and independent thought was not encouraged. It is not my place to tell you his story, but you might do well to ask him.” She levelled him a severe look. “You and he need to put aside your enmity for this year, Potter. I will not tolerate either of you holding onto old grudges. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry bit out. He was furious, barely seeing the halls as he made his way downstairs and out of the castle. Reaching the castle door, he was at a loss for a destination. He wasn’t in the mood right now to visit Hagrid, and if he went to his dormitory there was a good chance Malfoy would be there. Hesitating, Harry decided what he really needed was to fly for a bit, clear out the anger churning in his stomach. He’d grab his broom and head out, ignoring Malfoy if they happened to cross paths.

Harry was in luck. He entered the Eighth-Year building with trepidation; it was blessedly empty. The door opened onto a mudroom, which led into a small common room; boys’ bedroom on the left, girls’ on the right, corresponding bathrooms behind. Entering the boys’ dormitory, Harry was disappointed to see just the one room, six beds ready for their occupants. The dressings were white with the Hogwarts crest. Part of the solidarity McGonagall had spoken of in her initial letter, no doubt. Harry saw only one bed with the covers rumpled; it must be Malfoy’s. His own things had been placed on the opposite side of the dormitory, furthest from the bathroom. Grateful the room was deserted, Harry grabbed his broom, gloves and scarf before leaving quickly.

It was glorious to fly again. Not for Quidditch, nor to escape Death Eaters; just to fly, skimming the water of the lake, soaring above the Forbidden Forest, his fingers becoming numb despite his dragon-skin gloves. Harry had bought the best broom Quality Quidditch Supplies had in stock; it was ridiculously expensive, but he hadn’t cared. Flying was such an integral part of him, and Harry wanted to be able to escape, the roar of wind in his ears blotting out everything else. He flew until his fingers were completely numb before coasting back down to settle on the Quidditch pitch. Another place with mixed memories. Here, he’d won the Quidditch Cup; fought Dementors, real and fake; almost swallowed his first Snitch. Harry sat in the middle of the pitch, wishing he’d brought a flagon of pumpkin juice, opening and closing his fingers to try and get the blood flowing again. He’d needed it, blowing away the anger and frustration at McGonagall’s earlier news. Now that the burning was gone (or tempered, at least), he could think about it more clearly.

Malfoy had returned to Hogwarts.

Harry had mixed feelings about it. Part of him wanted to be righteously angry, to refuse to allow Malfoy back. Why should he have the chance to study again, when so many did not? He shouldn’t be able to just pick up his life, when he’d helped to destroy so many others. Try as he might, Harry could not summon the same level of anger again. While that one part of his brain raged and roared against it, the other brought up a slew of other images of Malfoy. Bent over a sink in a deserted bathroom, sobbing at the futility of his task; shaking as he pointed his wand at Dumbledore, unable to shape the words that would end the old man’s life; eyes wild as they sprawled over the floor outside the Room of Requirement, Fiendfyre licking at his boots.

Harry tried to remember the Malfoy of earlier, the snide tone of voice, the vicious joy he’d gotten out of wielding his power as a member of Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad. Those images were faded, and he had the same sense of distance as he’d felt while remembering the snowballs standing outside Hogsmeade. They were schoolboy memories, children’s grudges and animosities. _Before Malfoy had met Voldemort_ , Harry’s brain explained. _Before he really knew what evil really was._

Another memory came to him, one that was clouded in fear and pain. At Malfoy Manor, when Harry, Ron and Hermione had been captured, the Snatchers had suspected Harry’s real identity. Dragged before Malfoy, Harry had been certain his name would be declared; instead, Malfoy had refused. And not just refused; he had been frightened, Harry now realised. It was the fear of someone caught up in something larger than they could control, with no escape. Harry knew the feeling – had lived with it for most of his time at Hogwarts – and he could see it in Malfoy’s pinched face, pale even by his standards.

By now Harry’s fingers had regained all feeling, but still he sat on the grass, contemplating his options. Leaving was not on the table; he would remain at Hogwarts even if Malfoy was as difficult as he had always been. Which left him three options, as far as he could see.

He could resume their hostilities, going out of his way to be nasty to Malfoy, hoping to antagonise him.

He could ignore Malfoy, pretend he didn’t exist. It would be difficult, given the small dormitory and likelihood they would be in every class together, but it could be done.

Harry dismissed the third option before it was fully formed, then checked himself. Perhaps there was a compromise. McGonagall had suggested he talk to Malfoy, find out more about him. When Harry thought about it, he really didn’t know a lot about Malfoy. He was rich, of course, and from a long line of purebloods; an only child and a Mummy’s boy. Ron’s voice sounded in protest in Harry’s mind, followed immediately by Hermione’s, encouraging Harry’s moderation. But they weren’t due here for seven weeks. As far as he knew, he and Malfoy would be the only two students here until the beginning of term, unless any younger students were coming early. Even if that were so, they would be unlikely to try and befriend Harry and Malfoy.

Picking a blade of grass, Harry turned it over, thinking. What would Dumbledore say? He knew, of course; Dumbledore would have encouraged him to see both sides, to consider Malfoy’s motivations. _He also lost things in the War, Harry,_ Harry could almost hear him say. _His life was affected almost as profoundly as yours, if not moreso. You have the benefit of many years of independence on which to rely. Draco is now alone for the first time in his life._

Harry sighed. Dumbledore would have been right. And what else did he have to do before the beginning of term? Picking up his broom, Harry nodded to himself. His stomach told him it was lunch time. He’d head to the Great Hall and see if Malfoy was there. Harry ignored the swoop of nervous energy that fluttered through his stomach. Must be the hunger, he told himself.


	3. Conversation

** CHAPTER 3 - Conversation  **

Harry dropped his broom and gloves back at the dormitory, still a little relieved not to see Malfoy. He kept his scarf – the same Gryffindor one he’d had since first year, one of the few personal items that had survived the War. It was ridiculous to feel nervous about entering the Great Hall, he told himself. It didn’t stop his heart hammering as the huge door swung open, and Harry looked into the vast space, wondering what might have changed.

Nothing had changed.

Four long tables still stood along the length of the hall; on a raised platform at the end was the teachers’ table. The ceiling still mirrored the real sky outside, icy blue with scattered clouds. As he stood and stared, Harry realised that one thing had changed. He was the only person in the hall. Out of habit he sat at the Gryffindor table, wondering what would happen now. Would the tables all fill automatically with platters? Or would it be like the Yule Ball where he told his plate what he wanted to eat? As Harry wondered, his question was answered. A plate and goblet appeared in front of him, along with a small collection of platters containing a range of food. It was far more modest than he was used to as a student, yet excessive in comparison to the meals they had scrounged on the run. Harry helped himself to sandwiches, a pastie, a slab of sponge cake and water. He wondered idly if there were still house elves at Hogwarts. The idea of Hermione taking S.P.E.W. up again was amusing and he felt the shadow of a smile cross his face at the thought of her leading house elves in revolt for proper wages and conditions. As the shadow faded, Harry felt someone watching him. He turned to his right automatically, seeing the figure in the doorway.

Malfoy.

Their eyes locked, and Harry wondered what the other boy – man, really – was thinking. The huge room seemed tiny all of a sudden, all the air sucked out of it; Harry somehow felt that this moment might define their whole year, so he did the only thing that made sense. He took out his wand and tapped the table opposite him, conjuring a plate and goblet to match his own. Nodding slightly to Malfoy, Harry turned back to his lunch, heart beating wildly as he pretended to ignore the only other person in the Hall. Harry’d made the offer, now it was up to Malfoy to decline or accept. If he declined…

But he didn’t. Before Harry could plan what he would do if Malfoy chose to sit elsewhere, the seat opposite him was filled. Malfoy didn’t look at him as he sat, hunched over, hands in his lap. Harry wondered if he was sulking; it was an odd choice to sit with Harry if he was going to be in a bad mood about it. Without a word, Harry continued his lunch, more or less ignoring Malfoy. It wasn’t until Malfoy had taken his share of lunch – one pastie and some pumpkin juice, barely enough, really – that Harry spoke.

“McGonagall said you arrived a few days ago.”

A quick nod, but Malfoy didn’t speak. Harry debated trying again. He tilted his head, watching Malfoy as he ate, head bowed, making a huge effort to appear invisible and silent.

“Do you know what classes you’re going to take, then?” Harry asked, his voice deliberately light.

Malfoy didn’t answer for a long while, long enough that Harry, who by now had finished, was going to give it up and leave. When he did speak, it was quiet and toneless. “No.”

“I guess we’ll have to pick up where we left off.” Harry said. Watching Malfoy had already changed his mind about him. He wasn’t arrogantly ignoring Harry or making rude remarks, as Harry had expected. He was eating the way a very small Harry used to eat when Uncle Vernon was in a particularly foul mood, or when he knew Aunt Petunia was feeling irritable.

Draco was frightened. Not in a ‘I just saw a spider’ kind of way, but in an ingrained way, like he’d been living with a deep terror and the only thing he could do about it was try very hard not to attract the wrath of whomever was terrorising him. His blond hair was long now, longer than Harry had seen even at the Battle, though he hadn’t really gotten a good look at him then, given the distractions. The way Malfoy was using it to hide behind now, it was possible he’d magically lengthened it for that exact purpose.

“Well, it looks like it’s going to be just us two for the next few weeks,” Harry said. He didn’t want to push Malfoy, but there was a definite empathy in Harry for the defeated-looking person sitting in front of him.

“If you want to play Quidditch or whatever, I’ll be around.”

When Malfoy didn’t answer, Harry stood, grabbing an apple and a banana. “See you later, then.” He thought he saw a twitch of Malfoy’s hand at his words, but after a moment’s hesitation, Harry turned and walked out of the Great Hall. Outside the sky was still clear, the air still cool; Harry opted to unpack his trunk rather than fly again. He took out a few photos and things, setting out his belongings and wondering what he would do with all the time before term started. Malfoy hadn’t seemed hostile, exactly, but he might take some time to warm up; otherwise, though, Harry was on his own. It would be odd, after spending so much of his life in the company of other people. Even at The Burrow, where he’d taken plenty of solitary walks recently, there had been a houseful of people to come back to. He’d have to get used to a far quieter existence for a while. Perhaps Hagrid would be around later? Harry could see the cabin from his window, and it still appeared deserted. Later, then.

Shrugging, Harry took out _Flying with the Canons_ and settled down to read. Frustratingly, he couldn’t concentrate, even with the photos showing their flashiest manoeuvres. Without really considering it, Harry knew he was going to try and if not befriend Malfoy, certainly have a conversation with him. He hoped they could at least reach an understanding. It would be an awkward year if not, though Harry had the distinct impression that the Malfoy who had returned for this year was not the same person he remembered from their earlier years.

The book was still open in front of him, his mind a million miles away, when Malfoy came into the dormitory. He nodded at Harry and turned to his own trunk, rifling through it for something. Perhaps he felt Harry’s eyes on him, but he stopped all of a sudden, frozen. His eyes shot to Harry’s, and Harry was surprised to see the fear and mistrust so openly borne.

“What?” Malfoy asked, his voice tight.

“Nothing,” Harry replied, picking up his book again. There was silence, and a shape loomed over him. He lowered his book and looked enquiringly at Malfoy.

“You’re not…are you angry?” Malfoy asked. He was standing next to the end of the bed, fiddling with a silver and green scarf. Perhaps it was his old Slytherin scarf, Harry thought – just like my old Gryffindor one.

“No,” Harry replied calmly. “I’m not angry.”

Malfoy looked at him, fear and confusion on his face. “Why?” he whispered.

Harry considered the question. “I don’t want to be,” was the best he could come up with. When Malfoy looked at him in astonishment, mouth hanging open, Harry tried to elaborate. “There’s been enough of all that,” he said. “I was walking one day, I walked a lot lately, trying to figure it all out. The only two things I know for sure are I have no idea what to do with my life now, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life hating people.”

“But…” Malfoy was still stuck on the ‘not angry’, Harry could see.

“Want to go for a walk?” Harry asked him. Hesitantly, Malfoy nodded and they donned their scarves and left the dormitory. Malfoy let Harry lead, and he followed a path down to the rocky beach on the edge of the lake. For a while they walked in silence, Harry picking up the occasional stone to toss into the water. Finally they sat on two large boulders.

“I was angry when McGonagall told me you were here,” Harry admitted quietly. “For a lot of reasons. I think it was easier to be angry with you because we’ve never gotten along.” He smiled, but there was no mirth behind it. “I don’t really know how to get along with you, I think.”

The silence was broken only by the wind riffling the surface of the lake.

“I was taught a lot of things at home,” Malfoy said, addressing the rock on which he sat, “but getting along with people was not considered a worthwhile endeavour.”

Harry nodded. It was the first time he’d heard Malfoy speak about his home life apart from boasting. He made a mental note to come back to that, perhaps. Now didn’t seem the time to push him.

“She wanted me to ask you about what it was like, growing up in your house.” Harry paused, feeling the tension radiate off Malfoy, even from here.

“I’m not going to ask, because I don’t need to know. It’s all from Before, and this is After, now.” Not sure how clear that was, Harry pressed on, taking a deep breath. “I think we should start again.”

Harry stood up and walked the few uneven steps across to Malfoy.

“I’m Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you.”

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

Harry held out his hand and after a long hesitation Draco took it. Harry wondered if he was thinking of the last time one of them had offered to shake hands with the other. Before their sorting ceremony, almost seven years ago. Before everything.

Malfoy dropped Harry’s hand almost immediately, and Harry returned to his rock.

“So, how was your summer?” Harry asked casually.

For the first time, Malfoy lifted his head and really looked at Harry. His face was no longer just pale, but almost grey, the stress written across every inch of taut skin. His eyes were huge, icy blue as the sky and incredulous at Harry’s question.

“Mine was pretty quiet,” Harry said, deliberately continuing the ridiculous conversation. What on earth else would they talk about? “Bit of flying, released a dragon, killed a Dark Lord. Not that much to tell, actually.”

“You really released that dragon?” Malfoy asked, then looked aghast that the words had slipped out.

Harry grinned at him. He knew that bit would pique Malfoy’s interest. “Yep. Poor thing was blind, but she flew pretty well.”

“I’ve never ridden a dragon,” Malfoy told him.

“Not as good as a broomstick,” Harry said, “but far easier than a Thestral.”

To his satisfaction, he was rewarded with the first expression Malfoy had made so far – the faintest of smiles, as though he was remembering something enjoyable from long ago.

“We could fly tomorrow,” Harry added. As he spoke, the smile slid from Malfoy’s face.

“I don’t have a broom anymore,” Malfoy admitted. “They took…everything of value was seized.”

Harry nodded, kicking himself for forgetting the Malfoys had lost everything. More than him, in a way. He’d have to remember to keep his own brand new broom out of sight. “We can use school brooms. Catch a snitch on an old Shooting Star, what do you reckon?”

Malfoy snorted, the closest Harry had seen him to his old self. “I doubt that’s even possible, they’re so slow.”

“Good point,” Harry said, and they lapsed into a silence that was not precisely comfortable, but wasn’t as tense as he thought it could have been. Malfoy hadn’t gone back to the ridiculous ‘how was your summer’ question, which was fine. Slow and steady, Harry told himself. To his surprise, it turned out that Draco Malfoy might actually need a friend, and he, Harry Potter, might be in the position to provide just that.


	4. Illumination

Chapter 4 – Illuminating

The next few weeks were the most unusual of Harry’s life. Considering what the first almost-eighteen years had been like, that was saying something. Through all that time, every moment he could remember, there was a figure somewhere that held sway over him. Either Uncle Vernon (though he seemed positively docile in comparison), Snape, or lately, Voldemort. For the first time in his life, Harry was more or less free to do as he liked without considering whom it might be that wanted to kill or otherwise inconvenience him. It was odd, but slowly he was learning not to look over his shoulder every few seconds, to use magic without considering how it would look or who would care.

He and Malfoy had started tentatively, that first day, but the hours in which they became most accustomed to each other’s company came each evening after dark. They tended to sit in their common room, mostly in silence, occupied with whatever had caught their interest – books, new spells, sometimes Wizard’s Chess. Harry would occasionally write a letter or two, and he could feel Malfoy’s eyes on him when he sat down with parchment and ink. He had few correspondents now – only the Weasleys and Hermione really, though he’d written a brief letter to the Dursleys informing them of his survival and the end of the War. Harry knew he’d have to send it by Muggle post, so he’d asked Hermione – there was a Muggle post office in Ottery-St. Catchpole, and she’d know how to do it. He hadn’t heard back, which was exactly what he thought would happen. Dudley was the only relative he had that seemed even vaguely curious about his welfare, so he’d thought it was the right thing to do.

Harry had wondered why he was watching him – did Draco look sad? – until it occurred to him that there was probably nobody for him to write to, now. Harry knew both his parents had died, and before that, had shunned most of his extended family. Many of the Slytherin students would be in a similar position to Malfoy, and those that were not were unlikely to want to write to a Death Eater. Knowing Lucius Malfoy, Harry doubted his son had ever had a friend that was not the child of a Death Eater. It had made him realise how very lonely a childhood Malfoy must have had. Enough, perhaps, even to rival his own. Once he began to pay attention, it made Malfoy’s behaviour far more understandable. Right now, as much as Harry was adjusting to life free of an overbearing presence, Malfoy was doing the same. In his case it was the loss not only of the negative presence, but his mother, who had doted on him, all his friends and the money and social status against which he had measured everything.

The days slowly grew more comfortable, but it was what happened after bedtime that most made Harry reconsider Draco. The first nights in the dormitory were quiet. Harry tended to retire before Draco, bidding him goodnight before turning in. He was asleep before Malfoy retired, the long days generally tiring him out more than he realised.

It wasn’t long before things changed.

Harry had turned in first again, speaking quietly to Malfoy as he pored over a book. “Good night,” he said. Malfoy nodded, not raising his face; Harry took the acknowledgement and went to bed, his eyes heavy before he’d even crawled between the sheets. It was disorienting when the shouting began; he scrambled for his wand and glasses, shouting, “Lumos Maxima!”, throwing light to the middle of the ceiling. Harry was blinking wildly, breath coming in gasps as he looked around for the source of the noise. By the time he realised it was coming from the bed opposite, it had changed from terrified shouts to much quieter whimpers and the occasional sob.

“Malfoy?” Harry said. There was no answer; the noises became muffled, as though someone had buried their face in a pillow. Harry hesitated. He didn’t want to embarrass Malfoy, potentially destroying the fragile rapport they’d been building; on the other hand, he hated the idea of leaving him alone and frightened in the dark. Nightmares had been a regular occurrence in the Weasley household, given their shared experiences, and Harry had some idea of what was needed.

He stood carefully, ignoring the freezing stone floor on the soles of his feet. Moving into the bathroom, Harry wet a flannel and filled a glass of water, taking both out to place on Malfoy’s bedside table. He added a handful of the tissues he’d been keeping by his own bed – it was a miracle he’d not had a nightmare yet – and walked over to crawl back into bed without a word.

“Finite Incantatem,” Harry muttered, extinguishing the ball of light still hovering over the middle of the room, and immediately replaced it with, “Lumos,” his wand tip casting a much softer light. Laying it carefully on the bedside table, Harry directed the beam towards one of the empty beds. It was dim enough not to keep them awake while still banishing the darkness.

As he lay down again, wondering if sleep would come again soon, Harry thought he might have heard a sniffled, “Thanks, Potter.” Then again, he might not.

The next day, neither of them spoke of the events of the previous night. Harry was almost relieved to have a nightmare of his own the next night; he’d fallen quite spectacularly out of bed, fighting the sheets for several moments until the bright light of Malfoy’s spell had brought him back to the dorm room. Closing his eyes, Harry had concentrated on his breathing, the blood pounding hard enough in his ears to blot out the sound of Malfoy moving around. He must have done though, because when Harry clambered up to clumsily remake his bed, a glass of water and a wet flannel sat on his bedside table. He stared for a moment before a small smile crossed his face.

“Thanks, Malfoy,” he said into the silence. In response the Lumos Maxima light went out, leaving only the Lumos from Malfoy’s wand to illuminate the room.

Since then, Harry and Malfoy had both had their share of nightmares. Neither brought it up, but it seemed that if one woke, the other would provide lighting and what had become the standard triage items. There were precious few nights that they both slept through; it seemed to Harry on these mornings they shared a particular look. They’d fallen into the habit of waiting for each other to walk up to breakfast; with so few people to accommodate, the meal times were generous to say the least. Malfoy was slowly relaxing, his conversation quiet, though there was an occasional spark of amusement when Harry said something particularly funny.

Their routine had formed largely at Harry’s suggestion, when Malfoy was still doing his best not to be noticed. As such, they walked to breakfast, talking quietly before settling on their plans – sometimes going their separate ways for the day, other times agreeing on a shared morning or afternoon. Harry often visited Hagrid, the huge man quieter than he had been Before. They would work together without speaking, collecting unicorn hair, tending to animals and plants, always finishing with huge cups of tea and homemade rock cakes.

Sometimes Harry and Malfoy would meet up to fly together, taking out a pair of old broomsticks and a battered practice Snitch. These were Harry’s favourite times, not only for his own pleasure at flying freely, but to see the joy on Draco’s face. It was the only time Harry had seen him allowing himself to enjoy anything, as though he didn’t think himself worthy of anything fun.

Still, Harry hadn’t brought it up. While they were learning to get along, and Malfoy was coming out of his shell, Harry steered away from any particularly meaningful conversations. He wasn’t sure how Malfoy viewed their friendship, or if he would be prepared to talk about anything serious. For all Harry knew, Malfoy was just dragging himself out of his despair with the end goal of never seeing Harry again once they graduated at the end of the academic year. The idea was somehow difficult for Harry to reconcile.

+++

Several weeks after they had arrived at Hogwarts, the two Eighth-Years sat at the Slytherin table eating breakfast. Harry had always sat at the Gryffindor table out of habit; Malfoy did the same with the Slytherin table. They tended to trade off at breakfast, sitting at whichever table was furthest from the small knot of younger students. The younger students tended to stick together and avoid both he and Malfoy, thank goodness. They appeared to be none the worse for wear after the previous year at Hogwarts, and their chatter and shouts of laughter were grating enough from across the Hall.

“I thought I might walk into Hogsmeade this morning.” Malfoy spoke quietly, his eyes still on his plate.

Harry swallowed a mouthful of bacon. “Did you want some company?” he asked carefully.

“I have errands to do first,” Malfoy said, his cheeks turning pink, “but we could meet for a drink after.” Harry nodded. He was almost out of ink, and he’d barely brought any parchment from Diagon Alley. A quick stop at Honeydukes would never go amiss, either.

“Sure,” Harry said. “I’ll meet you at the Hog’s Head?”

“Yes,” Malfoy replied. He stood up, gave the curious little nod that Harry had learned meant, “See you later,” and strode out of the room. Harry chewed on his last piece of toast thoughtfully. Malfoy had been rather reluctantly dragged into Hogsmeade both times Harry had gone; he’d insisted on wearing his travelling cloak, hood up, and sitting in a back booth of the Three Broomsticks the whole time. Sure, it had been over a week since then, but he wondered why Malfoy had had such a change of heart? Shrugging, Harry stood up, walking back to pick up a small pouch of money from his trunk. He’d find out soon enough.

+++

After visiting Flourish and Blotts to top up his stationery, Harry had bought a large bag of Chocolate Frogs before heading over to the Hog’s Head to meet Draco. He’d suggested it as it was far quieter and tended to attract the kind of clientele that did not care who you were as long as you made it clear you didn’t care who they were, either. He raised one hand to Aberforth and made his way to a back booth.

“Hi, Ab,” Harry greeted him.

“Harry,” Aberforth replied gravely. “I received your owl. Is your friend joining you today?” Harry had wanted to explain why he and Draco were drinking in the Three Broomsticks when they came into town. He didn’t want to offend the barkeeper by continuing to avoid the Hog’s Head, and had promised to drop in the next time he was in the village.

“Yeah, he’ll be here soon,” Harry said. “We’ll have Butterbeer, thanks.” Aberforth nodded and wandered back to the bar, pulling their beers into questionably clean glasses just as Malfoy walked in.

“Thanks,” Malfoy said as the pint slid in front of him.

“Alright?” Harry asked.

Malfoy nodded.

“What’d you buy?” Harry asked. Malfoy shrugged, evading the question, and Harry took the hint. He assumed money was a touchy subject right now.

“I had to see McGonagall,” Malfoy said into his pint. “I don’t have a lot of the materials I’ll need for potions this year, and…” he trailed off, and Harry was astonished to realise he’d been wrong – Malfoy was talking about money.

“Yeah,” Harry said, not really sure how to answer. “So you’re taking Potions, then?”

“It was the only subject I really enjoyed,” Malfoy admitted. “Even with…”

“Me in the class?” Harry said, half joking. Malfoy didn’t smile. “Sorry,” Harry said, not entirely sure what he was apologising for.

“Professor Snape as the teacher,” Malfoy clarified. Harry’s shock must have shown on his face, because Malfoy went on, “He wasn’t very nice to anyone, Potter. Having you there brought out his…less nice side.”

“ _Less_ nice?” Harry repeated, unable to contain the bubble of laughter. “Did he have a _more_ nice side I somehow missed?”

Malfoy looked stricken for a moment, and Harry wondered if he’d gone too far. Finally, a smile, small but real, appeared on his face. “Not that I ever saw. He was always writing to my fath-” He cut himself off, lips pressed together. _My father_ , Harry’s mind filled in. It was all so new to Malfoy.

“I’m sorry about your parents,” Harry said quietly.

“Yeah,” Malfoy replied. “That makes two of us, then.” His mouth twisted bitterly, and he finished his drink, raising his glass to Ab for a refill.

“Did you know your mother saved my life?” Harry asked Malfoy. This conversation had become very serious, very fast, but it felt like this was the right time to say it.

“She what?” Malfoy asked blankly.

“She saved my life. Voldemort” (Malfoy flinched) “told her to see if I was dead, and she wanted to know if you were alive in the castle. I said yes, and she lied to him.” Harry watched Malfoy’s eyes widen, then fill with tears. Blindly he stood up gripping the packages that threatened to fall from his lap, and stumbled out of the pub. Harry swore, threw some money at Ab, and followed. Malfoy had bolted to the end of the main street, and Harry saw him duck behind the end of the last building. When he rounded the corner, Malfoy was leaning on a fence rail, his packages strewn across the ground.

“Malfoy?” Harry collected the parcels and made a pile with his own beside a fencepost. There was no answer, so he asked again, “Draco?”

Perhaps it was the quiet voice, perhaps the use of his first name, but the blond turned, his tearstained face an image of desolation. He stood there, arms by his side, shaking with misery as tears tracked down his face. His expression was agony, red rimmed eyes pleading for…something.

Without thinking, Harry stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Draco. He hugged the shaking figure tight, as he’d seen Ron and Hermione do for each other. A small part of his mind noted that particular analogy but he ignored it.

Draco’s arms were rigid, pressed against his side, and Harry almost let go of the hug. Maybe this was not what Draco wanted. Harry had followed him after all.

As he loosened his grip Draco’s arms shifted, wrapping around his back. Harry felt fists grip his jumper; he tightened his hold again, resolving not to let Draco go until he was calmer. As he waited, he noticed Draco’s hair tickling his nose – it really was long – and the unfamiliar scent of him. It was surprisingly woodsy, with layers of scent he couldn’t begin to identify, overlaid with the faint smoke from the pub’s fire and the Butterbeer they’d both been drinking.

It took an age, a comforting, warm age before Draco’s arms loosened around Harry. Harry followed his lead, aware that this could get very awkward very quickly. Weird as it was, hugging Draco, it hadn’t been the excruciating experience he’d expected. Apart from Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, it had been a long time since anyone had hugged Harry like that. Ginny wasn’t really touchy-feely, and long comforting embraces were very much not her thing.

As Draco shuffled back, Harry did too, putting some space between them. He waited for Draco to speak. Why was his heart beating faster? It wasn’t like it mattered, or anything.

“Thanks, Harry.” The tone was familiar but the words stumped Harry for a moment. Had Draco just called him Harry? Hang on, since when was he thinking about Malfoy as ‘Draco’? Pushing that particular moment of confusion to the side, Harry focused on the moment.

“Feel like I should have some water and a flannel,” Harry replied, and Malfoy gave a weak grin at the joke. Okay, so they were kind of talking about it, then.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Harry said. “I just,” he shrugged, “wanted you to know that. About her.”

Draco nodded, his eyes wet again, but he held himself together. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “Thanks. Haven’t heard much good about either of them lately.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “But it won’t be like that forever. And you knew them better than anyone. You know what’s not true, and honestly,” Harry grinned a bit here, “the press is pretty full of shit sometimes.” The smile he was angling for had returned, and they stood there for a moment, breathing together in the cool air. Harry could feel something had shifted – the first names were a major step, he thought – but there was something else, too. Something he was not completely ready to examine, but he didn’t want to let it go, either.

“Do you want to go back into the pub?” Harry asked. “Or we could walk back to school.”

“Let’s go the long way,” Draco suggested, and Harry readily agreed. They picked up their packages and set out, taking the lesser used path that would allow them to walk the far side of the Quidditch pitch, along the shore of the lake and back to the castle.

“My father wanted to send me abroad to school,” Draco said as they walked. “But Mummy wanted me closer to home.”

“Were you close? You and your mother, I mean,” Harry asked. Part of him was curious and a smaller, slightly ashamed part was envious. Regardless of what had happened recently, Draco had something Harry never would – memories of his mother.

“Probably not, really,” Draco said, surprising Harry with his candour. “I know she loved me, and probably spoiled me, but we never shared confidences. Not really,” there was a note of regret in his voice.

“I’m pretty sure that’s normal,” Harry said. He didn’t know anyone who had told their parents the whole truth about what they did. “I mean, parents aren’t friends, are they?”

“True,” Draco replied, kicking at a stone. “I seem to be out of both, right now.” The dark humour was not what Harry had expected after such a melancholy demeanour lately.

“I heard Daphne Greengrass will be here this year,” Harry said. “Did you know her well?”

“No,” Draco replied. The wry smile he’d worn since his previous comment faded. “I was only allowed to associate with people my father approved of.”

“Kids of his friends?”

“Kids of Death Eaters, yeah,” Draco confirmed. “So they’re either in Azkaban, or dead, or…” he shrugged. “Nobody’s in contact, that much I do know.”

“Everything’s going to be different,” Harry said.

“It already is,” Draco said, and there was an emphasis on his words that told Harry they meant more than the simple meaning of this conversation. Speaking of which…

“So I’m Harry now, am I?” Harry asked. “Since when?”

“Since you called me Draco,” Draco replied. “You started it.”

“Only because you wouldn’t answer to Malfoy,” Harry protested. “I had no choice.”

“I was slightly upset by your insensitive comments about my mother, if you recall.” Draco retorted, a touch of laughter about his mouth.

Harry’s eyebrows rose. This was teasing, a faint remembrance of their previous volleys but without the venom. Now that they had finally started talking about important stuff, were they finding their rhythm again? An odd little thrill ran through Harry at the idea. What if they actually could become friends, not simply tolerating each other?

“Earth to Harry,” Draco was saying.

“Sorry, just thinking about that time I saved your life, actually,” Harry said with exaggerated calm.

“What?” Draco’s voice rose in indignation.

“Well there was that time in the Room of Requirement, if you recall,” said Harry, eyes darting carefully over to see if this was too much. While he saw a flash of pain in Draco’s face, he realised he’d been caught looking.

“I had that under control,” Draco replied, the challenge in his eyes.

Harry snorted. “No way.” He and Draco shot sideways glances at each other. They both chuckled, the tension relieved. Okay, thought Harry, we’re going to do it like this, then. Bringing things up as a joke so it’s out there.

“Is it even still there?” Draco asked.

“Is what still there?” Harry asked.

“The Room of Hidden Things.”

Harry gave Draco an odd look. “Is that what you called it?”

“Of course.” Draco gave him an exasperated look. “It was a room, full of hidden things. Thus, The Room of Hidden Things.” He spread his arms grandly. “What did you call it, again?”

“Room of Requirement,” Harry replied.

Draco nodded thoughtfully. “Not as good as mine.”

Harry bumped his shoulder in protest, and Draco didn’t protest.

+++

They settled down to a quiet afternoon after lunch in the Great Hall. Harry was content to sit with his Quidditch book open, staring out the window. He was still processing the quick change to their relationship – he would definitely call it a friendship now. He and Draco had talked easily the rest of the way back to the castle, the gentle teasing becoming more natural. They both steered away from the more sensitive layers – how either of them felt about any of it, for example – but it was open season for careful ribbing about the times Before, and During.

When Draco asked Harry if they could eat the berries they passed and Harry didn’t know, Draco marvelled that he’d stayed alive for long enough to track down Voldemort. Harry replied that if it he had been the Dark Lord he’d have finished Draco off immediately, just to get rid of the wisecracks.

“I bet you never told him the one about the dogs with no noses,” Harry said, and Draco both laughed and frowned. It had turned out he’d never heard it, and when Harry told him they’d both ended up rolling on the grass laughing. It had been the most surreal moment of this whole experience, Harry had thought; he’d mainly been laughing at Draco, who was bordering on hysterics at the fairly pedestrian Muggle joke. It was mere weeks ago he’d been battling the most evil wizard of all time just a stone’s throw from here, and now he was rolling in the grass with Draco Malfoy, ribs sore from laughing, the two of them slowly building a friendship. As their laughter subsided, they’d lain there for a while, watching the clouds. Neither of them mentioned the knees hooked together as they lay, or the two handed assistance Harry lent Draco when they stood up.

Now, cozy in the common room, watching the giant squid lazily squirt across the surface of the lake, Harry realised he was more content than he had been in a long time. He risked a glance at Draco, sitting in the squishiest armchair and realised the blond had fallen asleep. He shook his head, smiling a little as he grabbed a blanket off a shelf and covered Draco. Stretching, Harry decided to go and see Hagrid. Maybe he’d baked something other than rock cakes today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you don't know which joke Harry's referring to:
> 
> A: I saw a dog with no nose in the street the other day.  
> B: Really? How did it smell?  
> A: Terrible!
> 
> Bah-dum-dum.


	5. Acceptance

That same evening marked the first night both Harry and Draco had a nightmare. Harry’s was first, a variation on the Voldemort-Finds-A-Way-Back theme that had dogged him since the Battle; only Dead-People-I-Love-Blaming-Me was worse. He woke with the light again, panting, heart pounding. Rolling over, Harry sat up and passed one shaking hand over his face, closing his eyes to concentrate on breathing, only for them to fly open at the image of cruel red eyes still in his head.

“Harry?”

The voice was quiet, apologetic even, but Harry still jumped. He looked to the end of his bed to see Draco there, holding the customary glass of water and flannel.

“Thanks,” Harry gasped, still breathing much harder than usual. Draco moved hesitantly closer, putting the items on Harry’s bedside table.

“Are you okay?” Draco asked, as Harry’s heart kept pounding. It wasn’t subsiding; his mind was still whirling, and he shook his head. He wondered if that was a panic attack, but he couldn’t rally his thoughts enough to figure it out. Harry hunched over, clutching at his sides, hearing his breathing becoming more ragged, the panic spiralling inside him until he thought he’d burst with it.

“Harry, Harry, look at me…” The voice had been there all along, but now it was accompanied by firm hands, holding his shoulders.

“Harry, look at me, come on…”

Harry used every piece of willpower he could summon to lift his head towards the voice. Draco had stepped in front of him and was very close, filling his vision. When Harry’s eyes locked on Draco’s, he saw relief flood through them.

“Good Harry, let’s breathe together. You can do it, come on, in…out…in…that’s it, nice and deep…”

Draco’s voice continued, calm and measured, and Harry felt himself fighting the panic, forcing his diaphragm to move slowly, drawing breath in and shakily holding it before letting it out again. Slowly, agonisingly, Harry felt his heart rate slow. The swirl of panic started to dissipate like steam from a mug; soon there was nothing left inside him.

With a final deep breath, Draco stopped guiding him, his hands loosening on Harry’s shoulders. “Better?” he asked.

“Yes,” Harry whispered. He was exhausted, sweaty and quite embarrassed. “Sorry…”

Draco cut him off with a look, passing Harry the glass of water.

“Um, better not,” Harry replied, holding up one weakly shaking hand. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to grip it enough to keep a hold. Draco just nodded, holding the cup to his mouth, the few sips of water wonderful against his hot lips. Without asking, Draco picked up the flannel, running it carefully across the back of Harry’s neck, then across his face, the cool fabric taking sweaty residue with it. Harry tentatively closed his eyes and finally relaxed, enjoying the dark without those cruel red eyes to spoil it. He resolutely ignored the part of his brain trying to figure out what was going on and instead waited until Draco was done.

“Thanks, Draco,” Harry said softly. Draco gave him a faint smile before returning to his own bed and changing the lights. Harry wanted to process it all but the exhaustion washed over him as soon as his head hit the pillow.

+++

It was either immediately or hours and hours later – either was possible. Harry was shaken from sleep by Draco’s nightmare, and he reached automatically for his wand, sending the light up before making his way to the bathroom to collect the water and wet a flannel. When he returned, the shouting had stopped. Draco was sitting in the middle of his bed hugging his drawn up knees.

“Thanks, Harry,” he whispered, taking the water. He wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes; Harry wondered if he’d been shouting something in his dream. He couldn’t remember anything but couldn’t think of a way to say so.

“No problem,” Harry replied. He lingered for a moment, trying to think of something else he could offer as comfort. “Look, do you want me…I mean, I could move beds. To there.” He pointed to the bed beside Draco’s, on the other side of the bathroom door. “Less distance to walk in the middle of the night.” He knew Draco knew that wasn’t why he was offering; they both knew ‘so I’m not so far away’ would not be a reason ever expressed out loud, true though it might be.

“Sure, if you want,” Draco answered, a little too quickly to be casual.

Harry ignored it and grabbed his blanket and pillow, stumbling over and climbing in. He swore, returned to grab his wand, then turned to Draco and asked, “Alright, then?”

“Don’t coddle me, Harry,” came the reply. Harry grinned a little to himself as he changed the lights. If Draco was being flippant, he was okay.

+++

“I’ve completely lost track of the date,” Harry said suddenly. It was mid-afternoon, a rare cool and cloudy day that had driven them indoors after their time down at the Quidditch pitch, and the first argument they’d had.

Earlier that day, Harry had finally admitted to owning his new broom, watching apprehensively as Draco heard the news. “May I see it?” he asked quietly. Harry pulled it out from under his bed, and they both sat on the covers as Draco took the handle from Harry. His fingers were gentle as they stroked the smooth wood, touching the sleek tail twigs reverentially.

“It’s not as well balanced as my Nimbus was,” Harry said, though in truth he’d only ridden it that once. Funnily enough the old Shooting Stars they’d been using hadn’t bothered him; flying alongside Draco was preferable to streaking along on his new broom in solitude.

Draco was looking at him like he was crazy. “Really,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he placed one long finger under the broom, balancing it with ease. “I had a Nimbus 2000, too and it never sat like this.”

“Maybe that was your flying,” Harry said, folding his arms and grinning.

“I don’t think so,” Draco retorted indignantly. “Probably ‘The-Boy-Who-Lived’ got a special one or something.” His words weren’t angry or even teasing. Harry heard the sadness behind them. Regardless of the reason, it would be a long time until Draco could afford another broom in this league.

“I’ve only flown it once,” Harry told him. He looked outside, though the weather hadn’t changed all day – cold but clear. “D’you want to take it out?”

The disbelief on Draco’s face only budged when Harry muttered, “I’ll take that as a yes,” and began digging out his warmest scarf and gloves. Draco hadn’t moved, so Harry nudged him with a shoulder. “Come on, then,” he said, and Draco’s face finally changed.

“Really?” he said, the tentative smile widening as Harry nodded. A quick scramble for Draco’s warm gear and they were out, picking up the best of the school brooms – one of the Nimbus 2000’s Lucius had ‘donated’ so that Draco could play on the Slytherin Quidditch team. It was quite battered and pulled hard to one side, but they’d need something much faster than the pair of Shooting Stars if Harry was to keep up with Draco on the new broom. Those two ancient brooms had been the best matched pair, but neither would come close to Harry’s Firebolt 2.0.

“You go first,” Harry said as they reached the Quidditch pitch. He’d picked up a snitch too, and as Draco took the new broom, Harry readied himself to open the box.

“Ready?” he called.

Draco’s whoop of joy as he streaked around the grandstands echoed across the ground, and Harry opened the snitch box. The wings were a little slow, but the golden ball still darted up and away, leaving Harry to try and chase it down.

“No chance, Potter!” Draco had shouted, racing past Harry in pursuit. He’d been right – the new Firebolt was incredible – and Harry had resigned himself to making lazy loops around the goalposts, watching Draco soar. He really was quite good, Harry saw. Even with so many months off, Draco had an innate sense of where the snitch would go next, and a fearlessness that only the best seekers possessed. The broom was excellent, of course, but the experienced flier in Harry had to admit that Draco was naturally gifted. He watched the blond head race towards the ground, turning at the last minute to catch the snitch back on the ground. Harry drifted back down to meet him, feeling his mouth widen into a grin as he watched an elated Draco dismount from the Firebolt.

“That’s amazing,” he half shouted. Harry remembered the old habit, shouting for a bit once you returned to the ground, still not used to the quiet after wind rushing in your ears. “Far better than anything I’ve ever flown!”

“You’re a good flier, you know,” Harry said. “For someone who still calls me Potter, I mean.”

Draco shot him a look. “Two things,” he said, playing with the snitch. “Surnames only in Quidditch, I thought you knew that.”

“And?” Harry asked, watching the golden ball fly off, only to be caught again.

“And yes, I am well aware of my gifts on a broom,” Draco said. There was a truth to the mocking tone.

“Have you thought about going professional?” Harry asked. “They do tryouts, don’t they?”

As soon as the words were out of him mouth, Harry knew he’d made a mistake. Draco’s face, previously open and relaxed, had shut down, his fingers gripping the snitch.

“They do.” Draco replied shortly. “But not for Death Eaters.” Leaving the broom floating in mid-air, he said, “Thanks for lending me your broom,” and tossed the snitch over. In the moment it took Harry to reflexively catch the bright golden ball, Draco was several strides away.

“Draco!” Harry shouted, stuffing the snitch back into its box. When the slumped blond head didn’t turn, he left the Quidditch equipment behind, running to catch up. “Hey!”

Draco stopped as Harry ran in front of him, blocking his way. “What is it?” he asked, anger boiling under the surface.

“What the hell was that about?” Harry said. “You’re not a Death Eater.”

“Yeah, well, this says otherwise, doesn’t it?” Savagely, Draco pulled up his left sleeve, the scar on his forearm still angry and red. “Just in case anyone missed the pictures of me and my family all over the Daily Prophet, all they have to do is look at this and all of a sudden they’re not interested.” His lip twisted in a bitter grimace. “Not going to be a lot of jobs going around for someone with this on their skin.”

Shocked, Harry stood still, eyes locked on Draco’s arm. The spell to remove Voldemort’s mark had been brutal; the scar tissue was deep and rough, though it had effectively destroyed the Dark Mark. He could see Draco’s chest heaving as he drew breath, fingers in tight fists against the shaking. “I didn’t realise.”

“Of course not,” Draco spat. “You’re The Boy Who-”

“I’m not the Boy Who Bloody Anything!” Harry shouted. “I am so sick of that bloody name! Why can’t they call me Harry? Or The Boy Who Had No Choice, or The Boy Who’s Actually Grown Up Now? Do you think I can walk down a wizarding street without having people ask for an autograph, or thanking me or something? I don’t want to be famous, Draco! I just want to be like everyone else. Christ, I spent half these holidays inside or Disillusioned!”

Harry stopped, looking at Draco. This was the stuff they hadn’t talked about; the effect of the War on both of them.

“I knew about that,” Harry said quietly, pointing to Draco’s still exposed arm. “And I’m still interested.” That was not precisely what he’d meant to say, but hopefully Draco would understand what he meant. “Neither of us had much choice in how our lives played out before. But now…” Harry trailed off.

Draco seemed much calmer now. Slowly, he pushed his sleeve down and looked at Harry.

“Now we do,” Draco finished.

There was an awkward pause. Harry had wanted to say something else, or hug Draco or something, but Draco seemed okay with leaving it there. Instead he Bewitched the Quidditch supplies, sending them back to the dormitories so he and Draco could head up for lunch.

Now, about to write his first letter in over a week, Harry realised he had no idea what the date was. The days had passed with a sameness, only the slow development of his friendship with Draco showing that time had passed at all. He looked at Draco. “Do you know what date it is?”

Draco shrugged. “No idea.”

A thought occurred to Harry. “Christ, it might be my birthday!” He stood up, throwing a handful of Floo Powder into the fire and saying, “Gryffindor Common Room!”

Arriving at the right grate was still tricky; he tried not to show his relief as the familiar room came into view. Harry had not ventured further into the castle than the Great Hall, apart from his initial visit to the Headmistress’ Office. He made a mental note to see if Draco wanted to come with him tomorrow. Ignoring the startled looks of the few young students sitting around the room, Harry Summoned a copy of the day’s newspaper.

“Thanks,” he said to the room at large, turning back to the fireplace. At once he realised his mistake. There was no Floo Powder here – he should have brought a pocketful for the return trip. Swearing to himself, Harry glanced at the date on the paper – July twenty-ninth – and dropped it on a table before stomping out of the common room.

“A little thank you never goes astray, you know!” The Fat Lady called after him as he slammed the painting closed. Grumbling to himself the whole way back, Harry shut the door with rather more force than was necessary when he came back in.

Draco looked startled, eye flickering from Harry to the fireplace and back. “What…” he asked. “Why didn’t you Floo back?”

“No Floo Powder up there, is there?” he replied irritably. “We’ll need to remember to take enough for a return journey.”

“Right. Good to know.” Draco’s words were strained, and Harry risked glancing over. He saw exactly what he thought he would – a Draco straining to hold back a smirk, which dissolved into a full-on belly laugh when he caught Harry’s eye.

“Oh, Harry, your face…” Draco choked, and Harry thought about it. It was kind of funny, really.

“God, don’t tell the others,” he muttered, a grin spreading over his own face. Draco’s laughter was contagious and soon the two of them were gurgling with mirth, tears streaming down their faces at the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

“Christ, you seriously can’t tell anyone about this,” Harry said finally, when the worst of the laughter had abated.

“How will they know to take the extra, then?” Draco asked, a burble of laughter rising up before he could stop it.

“They can learn.” Harry said.

“What, like you did?” Draco asked, the fragile hold on his sobriety falling apart again as Harry tossed a cushion at him.

“I won’t tell them,” Draco said finally. “But you’ll owe me a favour.”

“Right. So much for friendship,” Harry snorted. It was the first time either of them had referred to their friendship.

“This _is_ friendship. I’m a Slytherin, what do you expect?” Draco told him. Harry rolled his eyes, but they grinned at each other again.

“I haven’t laughed like that in a long time,” Harry said eventually.

“It’s been hard. For everyone,” Draco replied, and Harry felt the moment bring their earlier argument to a gentle close.

“Hey, I haven’t been up into the castle except to see McGonagall,” Harry said, relieved that the argument and ensuing awkwardness seemed to be behind them. “D’you want to go tomorrow? Visit the common rooms, see if we can find Peeves?”

“Sure,” Draco replied, shrugging. “Hey, did you find out what the date is?”

“July 29th,” Harry replied.

“July…twenty-ninth?” Draco repeated.

“Yeah. Why?” Harry said.

“No reason,” Draco said, looking thoughtful.


	6. Awakening

** Chapter 6: Awakening **

The next day, Harry and Draco stood in the middle of the Eighth-Year common room, matching scowls on their faces.

“Don’t touch me!” Draco said, folding his arms across his chest.

Harry scowled a moment longer then sighed, the tension flowing out of his body with his breath. He’d been impatient, grabbing Draco’s arm to make him stand up. It had been the wrong move – Draco had jumped as though Harry had hit him, the fear in his face blooming like bloodstains.

Harry took a careful step backwards, giving Draco his space, waiting until he had calmed down before speaking. When the blue eyes were not so wild, and Draco’s gip on his torso had relaxed a little, Harry spoke. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you.” The words hung in the air for an agonising moment until Draco nodded, a sharp motion Harry recognised from their first days at Hogwarts when Draco had not known how to trust.

“I’m worried about you, actually,” Harry said.

Draco frowned, tilting his head to look at Harry.

“You’re…worried about me?” He repeated.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course I am, you idiot.” The words were tempered by his slight smile and over theatrical delivery. At least he hoped they were.

“You didn’t come to breakfast, you barely ate anything at dinner last night, you’ve barely spoken a word since I came back from the common room yesterday. You need to eat. And preferably tell me what the hell’s the matter, but mainly the eating.”

Draco stared at Harry for long enough to be unnerving.

“What?” Harry asked.

“I’ve been in plenty of trouble for missing meals before,” Draco said slowly, “But I don’t think anyone’s ever wondered why.”

Harry stared at Draco. It was comments like these that helped him paint a better picture of the Malfoy house – and the Slytherin one too, if it came to it. How often had he wished for the Dursleys to leave him alone, had revelled in the rare nights they went out and left him on his own. It sounded like Draco had had all the time in the world to himself. No brothers and sisters, only select boys and girls to play with, even the parents Harry had envied him sounded disinterested in their only son.

“Well, now you’re stuck with me.” Harry said, hoping to lighten the mood. “I’m annoying and pretty nosy, fair warning.” Hesitating, Harry added, “I can bring you something if you don’t want to come up to the castle.” He had no idea why Draco was acting so strangely, but he didn’t want to push it.

“No,” Draco said. “I’ll come.” They collected scarves in silence, walking almost as far as the castle door before Draco put one hand on Harry’s arm, stopping him.

“Thanks,” he said stiffly. “For…worrying.”

Harry blinked. “No problem,” he replied. Draco’s hand was a solid weight on his forearm, and the slight twinge of disappointment at its removal was disconcerting.

There was an awkward silence until Draco asked, “Um, do you want to come into Hogsmeade with me this afternoon?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, surprised. Draco rarely suggested trips into Hogsmeade; Harry suspected what little money he had was carefully rationed, mainly spent on books and potions ingredients.

“Okay,” Draco said. Abruptly he turned to the castle, Harry hurrying to catch up. “I hope they have that treacle tart again.” 

***

The afternoon had been much better than the morning; Draco’s mood had lifted considerably, though he still seemed a little nervous to Harry. They both walked through Hogsmeade now without Disillisioning themselves; it was far easier to ignore curious glances when you had someone to talk to. Their conversation came naturally now, without the heavy editing of earlier. They browsed the shops before settling into the Hog’s Head as usual.

After a couple of Butterbeers, Aberforth came and sat with them, a quiet presence as they discussed brooms. Tactfully, Draco left Ab and Harry to talk while he returned to Scrivenshaft’s for the black ink he’d forgotten. When he returned, he and Harry bade Ab farewell and walked back to Hogwarts the long way around the lake, debating the merits of the various new broomsticks they’d seen advertised. Neither mentioned Quidditch as a possible future anymore. Harry was not planning on trying out for the team this year – he wanted to concentrate on his studies. Whatever he wanted to do with the rest of his life, five top N.E.W.T.s couldn’t hurt, and the dim memories of his O.W.L. year were of more work than he could have imagined.

He doubted Draco wanted the extra attention.

In the end they sent their packages on to the dormitories and headed straight for the Great Hall. It was early, and none of the other students were there. For the first time, Harry looked at the teacher’s table, wondering if any of them ever came for meals. Perhaps they ate in their offices. Assuming they were even here over the break?

“Who’d you think is going to fill the empty teaching jobs this year?” Harry asked as the question occurred to him. Draco looked up, confused, so Harry explained, “Well assuming the old teachers come back, that’s Herbology, Charms and Transfiguration, plus you’ve got Arithmancy with Vectra, right?” Draco nodded. “But there’s no Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. And no Potions Master either.” He knew there were others gone, but he couldn’t think about it – the enormity was too much. Better to focus on the few new faces he might see.

Harry loaded his plate with sausages as Draco considered the question.

“I don’t really know,” he said eventually. “Do you think anyone will even want the Defense Against the Dark Arts post? I mean, it’s hardly got a good reputation, does it?”

Harry shrugged. He wondered if Dumbledore would care if he told Draco what he knew of Voldemort’s curse? Before he could speak, Draco mused, “I wonder if it was cursed?”

Taken by surprise, Harry burst out laughing. It echoed loud around the empty hall.

“What?” Draco asked blankly.

“Voldemort cursed the job after Dumbledore refused to give it to him,” Harry explained. “Dumbledore told me,” he assured Draco when the latter looked disbelieving.

“Well,” Draco said, then stopped. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Harry answered.

“Bloody hell,” Draco breathed, sounding so much like Ron that Harry grinned. Draco grinned back, then frowned. “But…the curse will be broken now that he’s dead, right?”

“Think so,” Harry replied. “Not that it matters, since most people don’t know who it’s cursed by. If people still think it’s cursed they won’t apply.”

“Well I guess McGonagall will have to convince someone,” Draco said. “Maybe a past student or something?”

“Yeah,” Harry said thoughtfully. They ate quietly for a while, occasionally throwing out suggestions. Eventually, puddings finished, Harry sat back and sighed. “Well I’m done.”

“Me too,” Draco replied.

“Merlin, I’m tired,” Harry said, yawning as they walked through the falling darkness down to their common room. “I actually feel worse after a full night sleep, you know?” They’d stopped apologising to each other now, the nightmares coming as often from one as the other.

“I’m going to read for a bit,” Draco said.

“I’ll just turn in, I think,” Harry said. “G’night.”

“Night, Harry,” Draco replied. Harry moved automatically, getting ready for bed; his mind was on the date. Tomorrow was his birthday. He would be eighteen. In the Muggle world it was a big deal; the coming of age, as wizards termed it. Here it was a birthday, but nothing special.

As Harry lay in bed, he thought back as he always did to the night before his eleventh birthday. It was the last day before he knew he was a wizard. The last day he thought he’d be stuck forever with the Dursleys. He smiled at the vision of Dudley’s tail and the guilty satisfaction on Hagrid’s face at the illegal magic. Merlin, if he was almost eighteen, Dudley must have just had his eighteenth too. Wow. Harry wondered, as his eyes grew heavy and his mind wandered, what his life would have been like if he’d been The Boy Who Wasn’t A Wizard.

***

The visions were chaotic and terrifying. Skeletons, sneering and laughing, thin skin stretched over their skulls, sewn together at the mouth with clumsy stitches. Others shrieking, needles piercing their frail skin, sewing up mouths, blood pouring as knives sliced body parts to drop into rapidly swirling cauldrons. A cruel face with red eyes and a high, cold voice laughed as a new body was brought in – twisting and desperate, the familiar blue eyes looking desperately at Harry, begging for redemption as the sewn-together mouth could not do. The knife rose high; more blood as the sickening sound of body parts dropping into liquid was overwhelmed by screams from lips ragged from torn stitches.

“NO!” Harry roared. “No, please, Draco, no, no…GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

He’d been unable to speak for so much of the dream, twisting against his own bonds, but as the blood, _Draco’s blood_ spattered he was free to scream and beg. Harry knew he was thrashing, beating against the hands holding him down; blood pounded in his ears, roaring over the screams that were fading…fading…

“Harry!” the voice was frantic and familiar…the voice from the dream. Not the shrieks begging for mercy, but desperate all the same; someone was calling his name. Someone from his dream…

“Draco,” Harry gasped, the dream suddenly dissolving like a scene in a Pensieve. The blood was still loud in his ears and he was shaking, but Draco’s voice cut through.

“Harry! Harry, it’s alright…Harry, you’re safe, he’s not here…”

“No, no…”

Harry couldn’t help himself, trying to draw his knees up to his chest. Something was hard against his shoulder – was he on the floor? Opening his eyes, the dormitory came into focus. He was sideways on the floor, tangled in blankets; struggling against them only held him further.

“Hang on, Harry, let me…hold still...” The voice was stressed, but Harry recognised it again. Draco. Draco was trying to help.

Harry fought the panic, shaking as he held as still as he could, feeling hands tugging at his blankets. At least he was free. “Breathe with me Harry, remember, nice and deep…” The voice, Draco’s voice again, was trembling. But it was Draco.

“Draco,” Harry gasped again, scrabbling to sit up, to look at the figure in front of him. Draco’s eyes were wide, his long hair dishevelled as he stared at Harry. Harry’s eyes darted around, checking his arms, neck, face. There was no blood, no puncture wounds. The only thing that seemed to be making him anxious was Harry.

With a shaky exhalation, Harry felt himself go limp, the adrenalin finally subsiding, leaving him weak. He leaned against the bed.

“You’re okay.” The words were breathed out; he didn’t even know if Draco had heard him. Burying his face in his arms, crossed over drawn up knees, Harry tried to breathe evenly, the tsunami of emotion now swamping him. That was up there with the worst of his nightmares, the ones he dreaded more than anything.

He had never dreamed about Draco before, though. The dreams with other people were bad; bloody sometimes, often leaving him guilt ridden as his loved ones screamed out for help he could not offer. Why was this one affecting him so much? The question was too much for now; Harry concentrated on his breathing, the cool air in his lungs and on his clammy skin a relief.

“Here,” Draco said quietly, his voice further away than it had been. Harry lifted his head to see a flannel and a glass of water hovering near his face. Draco had retreated, sitting up against his bed as Harry was against his own.

“Thanks,” Harry said, taking the flannel to wipe his face and neck. His hands were still shaking; he would not be able to manage the glass. Despite his dry mouth, he said, “Just on the table is fine.”

Draco looked at him levelly before scooting over and taking the glass, holding it to Harry’s lips as he had last time Harry had had such a bad nightmare. This time his other hand steadied Harry’s head, fingers sliding around the back of Harry’s neck, warm and reassuring. Harry gulped down some water, pulling away when he was done. The glass settled itself back on his bedside table. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off Draco, checking that he was still alive. The dread he’d felt had still not abated, and Draco’s hand, still resting on his neck, was comforting.

A flare of memory flashed before him, of Draco’s face, contorted in pain, cruel puncture marks marring his face. Harry flinched, one hand reaching up to grip Draco’s arm. “You were…” he started, but couldn’t continue. To his mortification, tears threatened.

“I’m here.” Draco said quietly. “I’m fine. He’s gone.”

“I know,” Harry choked out, the admission somehow breaking the dam of emotion. Harry felt his fingers grip tight into Draco’s t-shirt, grateful the hand remained on the back of his neck; as he sobbed, unable to stop, Harry felt Draco shift closer, carefully wrapping his other arm around Harry’s shoulder. With a gasp of relief, Harry leant into the contact, his own hands pulling Draco closer. It was the anchor that kept him from being carried away; Draco was silent, but his weight and the comfort of being able to feel for himself that Draco was okay, helped. Voldemort was gone, Harry told himself. He was gone and he couldn’t hurt either of them anymore.

When Harry felt himself calming down, the vast rush of emotion – the sorrow, the fear and guilt – were gradually replaced. The fear lingered, though he could rationalise it to some extent, but his sorrow and guilt made way for unfamiliar affection…and embarrassment.

Merlin, what was he doing? He was behaving like…Harry didn’t even know how to label it, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t like an eighteen year old wizard and his former-enemy-present-friend should act.

“Sorry,” he muttered, sniffing and pulling out of the hug.

“Harry,” Draco said, releasing the hug, his fingers sliding slowly (was that reluctance?) from Harry’s neck. “We’ve all had nightmares. It’s fine.”

His smile was patient and genuinely empathetic, and Harry thought with astonishment it was probably the most honest moment he’d had since the War ended. Even his conversations with Ron and Hermione, secreted up to the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory after the Battle, had held back the full horror of what he had seen. They still thought him largely the hero; many of his nightmares had gone unseen, especially after he’d moved out of Ron’s room to give him and Hermione some privacy. There had been many nights he’d simply not allowed himself to sleep, avoiding the horrifying memories and tricks his mind devised for him.

They would not have understood. He loved them like a brother and sister, but neither Ron nor Hermione had ever stood so close to Voldemort. Even Ginny’s brief brush with Riddle’s memory was nothing compared to being in the presence of the man himself. Horrible though he had been, the charisma of that wizard could not be denied. Of all his peers, only Draco had felt his terrible pull, understood what it was to have him in your mind, invading your very being. Taking your parents. Discarding your very soul and relishing your anguish.

The embarrassment still remained, and Harry forced his weak muscles to pull him up to his bed, throwing his sheets haphazardly on top.

“Thanks, Draco.” His voice was still not right – none of him felt right. Hopefully some sleep would do it.

“You alright?” Draco asked as he straightened Harry’s blankets. He was watching his hands, not Harry’s face; there was something in his expression that Harry could not read.

“Yeah,” Harry lied. “Yeah.”

Was it disappointment that flashed across Draco’s face? Either way he stepped back, eyes flicking up to Harry’s face. The grey eyes were unsure, so Harry offered the most convincing smile he could muster.

“Okay,” Draco said, though he did not look certain.

Still weak, Harry lay down as Draco dealt with the lights, climbing back into his own bed. Harry found himself facing Draco in the near-dark. His eyes strained to see. Even after a few moments, when they’d acclimatised, it was all Harry could do to make out the shape of his body on the mattress. He was suddenly filled with gratitude that he’d shifted so his bed was closer to Draco’s – being able to hear Draco’s breathing was reassuring. Almost, Harry thought drowsily, as comforting as a hug.


	7. Exploration

Harry woke, blinking as he stared fuzzily at the ceiling. It was still really early, he could tell by the light; he wondered what had woken him. Idly he wished there was a spell to fix his eyes. It would be weird not to have to wear glasses, but there would definitely be benefits. He sat up and stretched before settling his glasses on his nose.

Draco was sitting up in bed, arms wrapped around his knees, watching Harry, his expression wary.

“Um, morning?” Harry said, the words coming out more like a question than he’d planned.

“Why are you…” Draco broke off, a slight frown on his face. 

The amusement of seeing Draco watching him so intently faded as Harry realised there was something Draco was trying to say. It looked like he’d been awake for a while, his face a mask of concentration. Finally, he spoke.

“You dreamed about me last night.” 

Harry winced. The words were benign, the tone of voice bewildered, but the stark truth of the statement was impossible to deny.

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, feeling a flush steal up his cheeks. Were they really going to have a conversation about this, when he had no idea what was going on in his head? His heart was beating faster now, and he waited for Draco to speak, not wanting to lead the conversation any more than necessary.

“I don’t understand why you don’t hate me.” Draco said quietly.

Harry’s heart stuttered, then resumed its accelerated beating. He stared at Draco. 

“I told you,” Harry said finally. “I’ve had enough of all that. I just want to get on with figuring out my life. Without Voldemort in it. Without hating half the people in the world.” 

Draco flinched at the name, but sat in silence again. Harry didn’t move. 

“But…” Draco trailed off. “I wasn’t…very nice,” he finished lamely.

Harry snorted.  

“There were a lot of people who weren’t very nice at school,” he said. 

“Harry,” Draco said, then stopped. Then started again, and it was like a dam bursting.

“My father…I’ve told you about him. What he was like. What it was like, growing up there. I only learned the things they wanted me to learn, only met the people they wanted me to meet. I knew my place – never greater than my father, of course – but far above everyone else. It was like a game. Sounding like you were being nice to people but going behind their backs. Using power. Pretending to follow the rules. That’s what I took to school with me, the knowledge that I was better than everyone.” He attempted and failed to smile. “I was,..trying to meet you. I thought if I impressed you...I had no idea why you’d chose Weasley over me. I was furious, and…embarrassed, I think. My father was angry of course, and Snape kept him informed of what happened at school. He was always looking over my shoulder.”

He drew a deep breath. “When… _ he _ returned, my father wasn’t as well received as he thought he should be. He wasn’t..trusted. It took everything my Father had to be allowed to lead the group into the Ministry. When it went badly, Father was to be punished of course, but…getting into Hogwarts was still...desirable.” There was a pause, and Harry wondered if Draco was imagining what happened at the Ministry that night. He himself was trying to banish the memory of Voldemort possessing him, filling him with pain until he wanted to die…

“Father acted reluctant to let me help… _ him _ ,” Draco really couldn’t say the name, Harry realised, “but I know my Father. He only cares about himself and my mother. She loved me, but he only wanted an heir, someone to continue the name.”

“But I saw him searching for you,” Harry remembered. “During the Battle.”

“She would have left him if I’d died,” Draco said, the tears still standing in his eyes, refusing to fall even as he spoke so coldly of his parents.

“The school stuff wasn’t good,” Harry conceded. “But it was schoolboy stuff. We were kids, Draco. And you grew up…where you did, and learned what you did…” Harry shrugged, having neither the words nor the inclination to say it all again.

Looking over at Draco, he could see the blond head bowed as he picked at a loose thread in his blanket. There was more there, more than a reluctance to accept Harry’s words…

He peered more closely at Draco. “What else?”

“I beg your pardon?” Draco asked, alarm in his eyes as they rose to meet Harry’s.

Harry nodded to himself. His suspicious was right.

“What else is there? I reckon you’ve been beating yourself up about this for a while. Making a list of the worst times in your head. Come on, bring up every time you thought you should have been, I dunno, nicer or whatever.” Harry curled his fingers in a ‘come on’ gesture, then allowed his fingers to fall. He deliberated made his expression challenging; Draco was as bad as he at refusing a challenge.

“The bathroom,” Draco whispered.

“What, where I almost killed you with a spell I’d never used before?” Harry said, raising his eyebrows.

“Only because I tried to curse you,” Draco replied immediately.

“Pretty sure you were defending yourself,” Harry said stubbornly. They’d both draw their wands that day; neither was innocent in that disastrous fight.

“If I’d failed,” Draco said quietly. “ _ He _ would have killed me. I think he thought I would, in the end.”

Harry had no idea what to say about that. Ultimately, he still felt like it had all culminated in Dumbledore’s death; even knowing the cursed ring would have killed the old man either way, it was difficult not to link the events in his mind. 

He shook his head. This was the kind of thing he was trying to avoid in his life, now. Hashing back over events long past. Holding onto bitterness and hatred, allowing it to colour how he saw the world now. Nothing could change what had happened; assigning blame and nurturing anger would do nothing but continue a circle of suffering that had gone on too long.

“Next?” Harry asked, his voice strained but determined. They were going to talk through all of this, he told himself, then never mention the bloody topic again.

“That day at…the Manor,” Draco said quietly, looking down at his sheets. “I...my father…my aunt...”

“Your aunt’s actions are not your fault, Draco,” Harry said immediately and firmly. “Merlin knows you are not your family.”

“I knew they would call  _ him  _ if they knew it was you,” Draco whispered, his face contorting. “I tried not to tell them…”

“I know,” Harry said, and he had the oddest impression he was comforting Draco. “I could see your face, Draco. I know you didn’t have much of a choice. Between Greyback, your father and your aunt, there was more than enough menace in the room for anyone to do what they were told.” His own mouth twisted. “Merlin, we’ve both spent half our lives doing things we didn’t have much of a choice about.”

A mirthless quirk of his mouth was all the hint Draco gave that he’d heard Harry.

“The Room of Hidden Things,” Draco blurted. “During the Battle. I shouldn’t have come. Should have told  _ him _ …” he trailed off.

“What, that you’d decided to change sides? Dark Magic not really for you any more, think I’ll just go home thanks?” Harry tried to make light of the situation, but he could see the anguish on Draco’s face. He thought back to that desperate night, the few words he’d heard from Draco and the others before the fighting had broken out between them. 

“From what I remember you were trying to stop Crabbe cursing me,” Harry said. “You kept telling him the Dark Lord wanted me alive.”

“Yeah,” Draco said, voice thick. “Dragging you back to the Dark Lord, what a hero.”

Harry stared at him for a long slow breath. “Did he threaten your parents?”

“What?” Draco asked.

“Did he threaten them. That’s what the Death Eaters were doing – threatening parents with their kids’ safety and vice versa. I bet he sent you inside to look for me, or you came on your own, but your parents were with him, weren’t they?”

Draco nodded, and even from the other side of the room, Harry could see the tears in Draco’s eyes.

“I know how persuasive he was. How frightening he could be just by speaking your name.” Harry said, pressing down his own horrific memories of his face to face meetings with Voldemort. “That’s why I don’t blame you, I mean yeah, maybe you could have done something noble and gotten yourself killed, but he would have sent someone else, wouldn’t he? We both know he would have done.” Harry kept his voice quiet and his tone even. “It was about survival.”

Draco’s head dipped again in the minutest of nods and Harry’s heart eased just a little. They sat in the early morning silence until Harry felt his eyelids grow heavy again.

“Look, it’s early,” Harry said, “and I for one don’t want to start the day right now. Let’s go back to sleep then start again.”

“Okay,” Draco agreed quietly.

“And Draco,” Harry said, “I’m not saying you can’t ever bring this stuff up again, but if you wanted, I dunno, permission or something, to let it go a bit…” he shrugged, not really knowing how to explain himself. 

“I mean,” he tried again. “I’m serious. About not holding a grudge. About that stuff. It was rubbish, the whole thing was, and I really do just want to put it behind us.”

Draco stared at him, frozen, eyes wide. Harry held his gaze until his eyes started to water, then nodded and lay down again, hearing the rustle of blankets that told him Draco had done the same. Despite the hours of sleep previous, Harry felt exhausted by their conversation. With any luck he’d actually get some more sleep before having to face the day.

+++

“Do you want to look around the castle today?” Harry asked at breakfast. “We never did it yesterday.”

Things had been a little strained after they’d risen again later that morning. Harry had dozed, but he had no idea if Draco had or not; it seemed too forward to ask.

“If you like,” Draco replied. He flashed Harry a look and added, “It is your birthday, after all.”

Harry felt himself flush. “Yeah, it is.”

“Happy birthday.” 

“Thanks, Draco.” Harry accepted the quiet words. Anything Draco had been about to add was lost as they were interrupted by a smaller collection of the younger students who had avoided Harry and Draco so far this summer.

“Um, can I help you?” Harry asked. 

The tallest of them, a girl with black hair, was pushed forwards. Reluctant spokesperson, then.

“We know it’s your birthday,” she said, more to Harry’s breakfast than his face. “We just wanted to say happy birthday, Mister Potter.”

“Call me Harry,” he said automatically. “Um, thank you.”

“Thisisforyou.” She blurted, shoving something into his hands and bolting, followed at a run out the door by the rest of the group.

“Right.” Harry said, looking up at Draco. The blond shrugged, mouth full of toast, so Harry opened the packaging. It was a box of chocolates, inexpertly wrapped.

“Oh no,” he said, glad the group had left so they didn’t see his reaction.

“What? That’s not a very nice reaction, Pott- hey!” Draco let out a little yelp when Harry smacked his hand away from the box.

“In sixth year I was sent a box like this,” Harry told him, pushing back and pointedly leaving the chocolates on the table. Draco grabbed the box as he followed Harry, still listening as Harry told him about Romilda Vane and the love potion.

“Merlin,” Draco grinned. “I’ll leave these to you, then.”

“I don’t want to leave them lying around, they’re dangerous,” Harry said. “I’ll just drop them at the Headmistress’ office, then do you want to see if the Room of Requirement’s still there?”

“Okay,” agreed Draco. The Headmistress was out, but Armando Dippet’s portrait promised to explain about the chocolates so she could speak to the students about them.

“Right, so how did you get in?” Harry asked when they had reached the Seventh floor. The wall was a smooth, unblemished stretch of stone. The fiendfyre had been fierce, and powerfully magical. He wondered if the room had survived at all.

“Walked past three times thinking about what I needed.” Draco told him, eyes roaming over the wall, face impassive.

“Yeah, us too,” Harry replied. 

There was a heavy moment of silence before Draco spoke.

“I’ll do it, will I?” he started moving, and Harry stepped back, watching as he paced back and forward, a frown on his pale face as he concentrated.

Sure enough, as he passed the third time, a door appeared.

“What did you think about?” Harry asked, curious. Draco just smiled as he opened the door, and they both stepped through. 

“Wow,” Harry breathed. It was the same room the DA had met in, only smaller. The bookshelves were the same. There was a small pile of cushions, and even the whistle he’d once wished for was sitting waiting for them.

“Did you…specifically want this room?” Harry asked carefully.

Draco nodded, his face displaying his uncertainty.

“Why?” Harry asked.

Draco looked around for a long while, taking in the details. “My father was never able to produce a Patronus,” Draco said quietly. “He was terrified of the Dementors. Probably still is,” he said, a bitter smile twisting his mouth as he made the conscious effort to use the present tense.

“You want to produce a Patronus?” Harry asked cautiously.

“Do you know what the spell translates to?” Draco asked quietly.

Harry shook his head. Was this one of the books Draco had been reading lately?

“Expecto Patronum,” Draco said, “translates from Latin to roughly, ‘I await a guardian.’” The bitter smile was replaced by something far sadder. “When term starts I think I’ll be needing some protection.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. This was by far the most personal admission Draco had made to him. They hadn’t talked about the start of term at all, though it had been at the back of Harry’s mind, wondering how things would be different. He was slightly ashamed to realise he’d only been thinking about himself – would people still stare? How would he cope with his classes? How strange would it be having a different dormitory?

“A Patronus is only protection against a Dementor,” Harry told him quietly. “Not against people.”

Draco nodded, his face resigned. He knew that, Harry realised. With a sudden burst of understanding, Harry looked around at the room again. It was fitted out to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts – as Draco had been thinking about when the room appeared. Defensive spells and enchantments. Just what Draco might think he would need when term started again.

“A Shield Charm is better for people,” Harry said conversationally. “There are some good ones that’ll stop people without really hurting them, too.” Draco must know some of this already. Harry waited a beat then asked casually, “D’you want me to show you a few I picked up?”

Draco had stilled as Harry spoke, and the silence now was heavy enough for Harry to hear his breathing and Draco’s in the vast space. It felt like an important moment, he thought. He was offering to protect Draco, to help him keep safe next term.

To stand between him and anyone who saw fit to take a bit of home-grown revenge on what they saw as a nasty little Death Eater.

At the understanding, Harry’s fist gripped tight in his pocket. Oddly enough he wasn’t alarmed by his thought. It made him more determined to make sure that if nothing else, Draco had a good shot at protecting himself.

“Yeah,” Draco answered finally, his voice trembling a little, belying the casual tone. “If you want to.” He stole a look at Harry, who was looking right at him, one eyebrow cocked, calling his bluff on the nonchalance. They held each other’s gaze for a moment before Harry grinned at him. Draco returned it, standing upright at last.

“Alright,” Harry said, taking out his wand. “Do you want to start with a Patronus? Or should we see what you’ve got first?” The second option was a clear challenge, and he was delighted when Draco smirked and drew his own wand.

“Expelliarmus!” Draco cried.

Harry dived reflexively to his right, gripping his wand. 

“Impedimenta!” He shot an Impediment Jinx at Malfoy, who immediately fell over but did not lose grip of his wand. The glint in his eye made Harry grin and think,  _ we need stuff to hide behind. _ Immediately, he saw a range of objects to his left. Without a thought, Harry darted behind a large bale of hay. He’d seen a number of these appear, along with barrels and several enormous beanbags.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Draco shouted, darting out from behind his own bale of hay to shoot the jinx at Harry. 

“Stupefy!” Harry retorted, seeing the spell barely miss Draco’s head as he ducked behind a beanbag. They traded basic spells for a while, rolling and diving behind the obstacles like crazy. At one point, Harry had the strangest impression they were making new memories, replacing painful memories with happier ones. Certainly, neither was aiming to curse the other this time, he thought wryly as a Stunning Spell whizzed over his head. It was kind of like Quiddtich, Harry thought breathlessly, the challenge and athleticism equally important. He’d have to get Draco to actually cast spells on him, see how strong they were, before-

“Expelliarmus!” 

Harry had been so deep in his thoughts he’d forgotten about Draco, who had sneaked up and Disarmed him without a problem. Smirking, he caught Harry’s wand as it fell back towards the floor.

“You win,” Harry said. When Draco reached out a hand to pull him up, Harry instead dropped his weight, pulling Draco back down, reaching for his wand. Draco wriggled away, holding both wands away, forcing Harry to pin him before he could wrench both from his hands.

“Draw?” Draco panted, rolling his eyes as Harry stowed both wands away. They were lying sprawled across the beanbag and each other, panting like they’d run a mile. Harry felt light, as though the competition and sweat had driven sadder thoughts from him. He was alive. Blood flowed through his veins, electricity made his nerves sing, and he was  _ alive _ . 

“Draw.” Harry said, relaxing. He was quite aware of how close he and Draco were – legs tangled, one of Harry’s arms flung out and resting across Draco’s stomach as they both looked at the ceiling. It looked like a cathedral, until…

“Is that the same as the Great Hall?” Harry asked. The ceiling had changed all of a sudden, looking like the sky they had left earlier. The most perfect blue, Harry thought to himself, then amended it. It was too warm, not quite the same as…

“Yeah,” Draco admitted. “Just wondering what it looked like right now. This room is amazing.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Harry murmured. They sank into silence then, Harry able to feel Draco’s heartbeat slow down as they both recovered. It felt curiously intimate, having first-hand knowledge of such an integral part of Draco. It didn’t seem to bother Draco, one of whose arms was trapped by Harry’s neck, the other tucked behind his head. He was far more at ease with his body than Harry was with his, and Harry found himself wanting to know how he did it. How was he so easy with himself that he didn’t even notice how close they were lying here?

“Do you want to try a Patronus?” Harry asked. “Blast, I should have brought some chocolate. No, wait… we need a Boggart, really.”

He felt Draco snort with laughter, another curious sensation when it was originating from someone else’s body. “I think we could just start without anything,” Draco said wryly.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “You’re not that good, actually. Ow!” Draco had poked him in the ribs.

“I don’t want a Boggart near you,” Draco said, “I see that face all the time in my dearest nightmares, thanks.”

The comment was meant to be light, teasing, but Harry felt himself tense up. The face Draco was talking about, Voldemort’s face, flashed before his eyes. It frightened him, of course, but there were worse things, of that he was certain.

“What?” Draco asked, trying to twist his face so he could see Harry.

“Nothing,” Harry said, knowing it was futile to lie. If he could feel changes in Draco’s body from this close, there was no way he could have missed how Harry reacted to that joke.

“Sorry,” Draco said. “Was the Boggart thing too much?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “I think so.”

It had made him think about what a Boggart might actually appear to him as. In the past it had taken different forms for him, but now he wondered, and the realisation made his heart stutter.

It would be Draco. 

Not dead, but sneering, dismissive, cruel. The way he had been in school, before a war had taught both of them more lessons than anyone should need to learn.

That was his greatest fear.

Merlin’s beard.

“Would you really see his face?” Harry asked. It was a whisper, quiet and fragile, barely enough to be considered a question. Draco was quiet for a long time, and Harry wondered if he was ignoring the question.

“I don’t know,” the words came as a surprise, just as Harry had thought there would be no reply. “A lot of things scare me now.”

Harry nodded without replying. Watching the wispy clouds meander across the sky was mesmerising, and he felt his eyes growing heavier. They should probably get up, he thought drowsily. But it was very comfortable here, and neither of them had slept well the night before – or this morning, for that matter. Draco was breathing deeply, though Harry couldn’t tell if he was awake or not; surely he’d say something if he was uncomfortable. Harry would just close his eyes for a moment.

“Harry.” A voice in his ear made Harry groan, protesting the noise that was dragging him from his sleep. He shuffled, snuffling closer to the warm weight he’d been pressed against. 

“Harry, wake up.” The same voice, more insistent this time, and a gentle jiggling that was a little too rough to be soothing.

“What?” Harry asked, forcing his eyes open. He was still in that beanbag in the Room of Requirement. With Draco.

Wrapped around Draco, to be precise.

As soon as Harry realised, he pulled his arm away, face burning bright as a Phoenix’s fire. He’d been pinning Draco down, sprawled half across him as they slept.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Draco said, “but I couldn’t get up.”

“Sorry,” Harry muttered. He was mortified. What the hell had he been doing? Fumbling for his wand, Harry muttered, “Reducio,” bringing the beanbag back down to a manageable size so he and Draco could crawl off it. 

“I’d have done that,” Draco said pointedly, “but you still have my wand.”

“Sorry,” Harry muttered again, handing it over without looking at Draco. He had no idea how Draco was handling the sleeping thing. Not terribly, at least – Harry hadn’t been dodging Stinging Hexes or anything.

Refusing to deal with how he felt about it right now, Harry forced himself to look at Draco.

“So, Patronus now, or another time?” Harry asked.

“Now,” Draco said immediately. He met Harry’s eyes and smiled. It was reassuring, a smile to say, ‘don’t worry, we’re fine’. 

Harry was relieved, though there was still a lingering…but he thrust it away, to be dealt with later.

“Right,” he said, thinking through the basics first. “Patronus. The incantation is ‘Expecto Patronum’. You need to find a happy memory, something really strong. Allow it to fill you up, that’s what will power your Patronus.”

Draco nodded, his face serious. He closed his eyes and Harry could see him flexing his fingers around his wand. He opened his eyes, determination writ plain, pointed his wand and cried, “Expecto Patronum!”

A gush of pearly white fog erupted from the end of his wand, making a shield before him. It lasted a few seconds before dissipating. Draco made a noise of disgust.

“It might take a while to get a full corporeal Patronus to work,” Harry encourage him. “That was pretty good for a first time. Try again?”

Draco nodded. He tried several times, each with the same effect, before his frustration was threatening to take over.

“Okay, maybe we should stop there.” Harry suggested. “It can be tiring, doing it over and over.”

“But…” Draco protested before turning away, shoulders hunched.

“I know,” Harry said. “It’s annoying. But we can come back tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Draco said. He looked at his watch. “Lunch’ll be ready, actually.”

“Great,” Harry said. He was hungry, but he also really wanted to get out of here for a bit. Things were…confusing. Tempting, his mind supplied, but he pushed the suggestion away.

“Thanks, Harry,” Draco said, pausing before they exited the room. He looked intently at Harry, who blinked behind his glasses at the intensity of the gaze.

“No problem, Draco.” His reply was quiet, he knew, but it seemed to carry an extra meaning for Draco, who nodded to himself before leaving the Room of Requirement.


	8. Confirmation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments. It's wonderful to share this with you all <3

That afternoon, Harry took his broom out flying. The sky was perfect, the air warm, but Draco had begged off, saying he wanted to walk instead. Harry didn’t mind – he wanted the solitude, something to clear his mind so he could think without distraction.

He flew fast and low over the trees of the Forbidden Forest, swerving to avoid the Thestrals who rose to fly alongside him. Perhaps they remembered him, but Harry wanted to be alone, so he turned, flying over the lake, easily outstripping the large animals before turning back towards land. He wove in and out of the Quidditch posts for a long while, doing every training drill he could remember until his muscles were on fire. Finally, he stopped, landing at the top of the Astronomy Tower, lungs burning with the effort, pleased at the blank white space in his head.

This time he’d thought ahead, nabbing a few of his chocolate frogs and a flagon of pumpkin juice before he left. The view from up her was magnificent, and he drank it in, enjoying the quiet and the stillness of the grounds. He could see Hagrid tending to his vegetables, probably crooning to the pumpkins if Harry knew him at all.

Sighing, Harry sat down, leaning against one of the hard stones of the parapet. He’d come up here for a reason, to think through what had happened, but his mind was too confused. He needed to talk to someone.

He wished Sirius was here. Or Lupin, or even Tonks.

Sighing, Harry set out the facts as he could see them.

He and Draco enjoyed each other’s company.

They were becoming increasingly close. The nightmares were a good case in point.

When they’d fallen asleep in the beanbags, Harry had ended up wrapped half around him. More importantly, Draco had not seemed to mind it. And neither had Harry. He’d liked it, and he’d wanted to stay there, close to Draco, surrounded by his scent, his body, his warmth. As dozens of emotions whirled inside him, a memory suddenly came, clear as crystal.

“Just because you’ve got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn’t mean we all have,” Hermione had said to Ron. That memory sent a cascade through Harry. It had been after Harry had kissed Cho. Harry had kissed Cho in the Room of Requirement. Thinking about kissing, Harry was suddenly thinking about kissing in the Room in a very different context.

He was thinking about kissing Draco.

“Ah!” Harry made a noise as though he’d put his hand on a hot stove. That was it, that was why he’d felt so strange lately. That was why he’d needed space from Draco to think about it. It was Draco. He was attracted to Draco.

“Fuck.” The word spilled out of his mouth as he considered the implications. It wasn’t that Draco was male – Harry had often wondered about his ‘orientation’ as Tonks had delicately put it when describing her father’s sister. He’d caught himself watching boys as well as girls, and it didn’t seem to be as big a deal in the wizarding world as for Muggles. It was that Draco was Draco, and they had a long and complicated history.

A history that included some pretty nasty stuff. The conversation that morning had been a turning point, and Harry sincerely hoped they could leave their past behind them.

Others wouldn’t see it the same way. They would see what they looked for, what they had always seen, and wonder why Harry wasn’t condemning him as they were. Yet when Harry thought of the Draco he saw that day in the bathrooms, it was the fear in Draco’s eyes he recalled most vividly. To Harry, who had more experience than most living under the shadow of an overbearing and frightening tyrant, Draco evoked more empathy that day than anger. Unlike Ron and Hermione, who as far as Harry knew, still hated him like they had when they were kids.

I don’t care, a rebellious part of Harry thought.

What would the others say? His brain asked.

I don’t care, thought Harry.

What will people think?

I don’t care, thought Harry.

Oh boy, he was in deeper than he’d realised.

And what about Draco? Harry was rubbish at reading other people, but Draco had definitely opened up to him as they’d gotten to know each other. His attitude was vastly different to that of the arrogant schoolboy Harry had first met so long ago. They had relied on each other in difficult moments, and he had not been fussed by the falling asleep together. And there were those moments, the indefinable seconds where their eyes met, and Harry had the strangest feeling that Draco was holding himself back from doing something or saying something…

Merlin.

He needed Hermione’s calm brain. Hermione’s experience with this kind of relationship thing. But she wasn’t due until the first of September on the Hogwart’s Express. Plus Harry would have to wait out the inevitable torrent of worry and concern before he could actually ask her advice.

For now, he needed an action plan. Something that would get him through until he could talk to Hermione and Ron. No, not Ron, he told himself. Ron would not be the right person for this conversation. He needed someone with far more emotional range than a teaspoon, he thought to himself with a smirk, then chastised himself. He was the one with no idea what to do right now.

Okay. So he just had to make sure he and Draco kept the status quo. Nothing could change. He wouldn’t change anything. Don’t stop doing anything, don’t start doing anything. There was only a month until Ron and Hermione arrived. Surely he could cope with that?

+++

There was no way he could cope with this.

When Harry arrived back at the common room, hours later as darkness had started to fall, he was greeted with the most garish birthday decorations he’d ever seen. Every colour of the rainbow was there, and some that might have been made up. Streamers, balloons, talking rosettes, continuous No-Spark Fireworks, and a huge banner that read ‘Happy Birthday Harry’.

“Draco?” he asked into the absolutely silent space, dropping his clock and scarf.

“Damn! Yes, I’m here…I was going to be there. Here. When you arrived. Sorry. Happy birthday!” Draco said, rushing out of the boys’ bedroom. He grinned at Harry who was still looking around, speechless.

“Did you do all this?” Harry asked. His stomach was swooping, his heart was pounding, and his brain was wondering if there was a way of interpreting this without admitting that Draco might actually fancy him.

Bollocks.

“Yeah,” Draco admitted with a sheepish grin. “Kind of figured you’d never had a really stupidly big birthday bash, what with your aunt and uncle and all, even though it’s just us,” Harry’s heart swooped at Draco saying ‘us’ to mean the two of them, “I didn’t know if you wanted a lot of people around…”

Draco’s grin was fading as Harry still failed to respond. “I mean, I bought the fireworks but the rest I just conjured, I can get rid of them if you like, if it’s too much…”

Harry’s hand came up, gripping the end of Draco’s wand, preventing him from using it.

“Don’t you dare,” he said quietly. “Thank you, this is brilliant.”

Draco smiled again, and the new self-aware Harry knew his heart flipped because of that smile. So much for ‘nothing new’. He sat on the sofa and went to put his feet up before realising there was a huge pile of presents on the coffee table.

“Are these all for me?” Harry asked, bewildered.

“Not all from me,” Draco hastened to explain. “They arrived today though, so I thought you’d like to open them all at once.”

“Of course!” Harry replied. “Come on, let’s see what I’ve got.” He deliberately extended the invitation, seeing how Draco was hanging back, unsure if he was welcome or not. Harry grinned as Draco sat on the opposite ends of the sofa, watching as Harry tore open the first package. It was from Ron – a study diary that sang encouraging phrases for each day of the year.

“Running joke,” he told Draco, who looked horrified at it. “Don’t worry, I’ll give it to Hermione, she’ll love it. Oh, this is brilliant!” The rest of the present was a bottle of Firewhiskey. Ron was clearly exercising his rights as an adult wizard, Harry thought in amusement.

Hermione had sent a note informing him that he should keep Ron’s diary, it would help him study for his N.E.W.T.s which were very important (underlined twice). She’d bought Harry a small book entitled ‘Healing Spells for the Adventurer’. His lack of skill in that area had been sorely tested while they had been away, and Hermione obviously remembered. There was a huge box of Weasley’s products from Ginny and George and a bar of Honeydukes’ best chocolate from Neville, whose note said he’d be arriving in a few days if Harry wanted to visit with him. Hagrid’s box of rock cakes was as inedible as always, though this time he’d added a long, stormy grey feather – Harry recognised it as being from Buckbeak. Mrs. Weasley had supplied homemade fudge and a card letting him know he was welcome any time at the Burrow. It was a lovely sentiment considering all that had happened, and he resolved to write to thank her as soon as possible.

“And this is from me,” Draco said, sliding a small box across the table. Harry took the small box, recognising the embossed gold design immediately.

“It’s a snitch,” Harry said in surprise.

“Open it,” Draco urged. Harry did, allowing the small golden ball to spring out and hover in mid-air. “Take it,” Draco told him, and Harry did, feeling the familiar sensation of small wings struggling against his grasp.

“Thank you,” Harry said. He had the feeling he was missing something. He could feel Draco’s eyes searching his face, but they must not have found what they were looking for.

“Leave it out tonight, okay?” Draco said. Harry nodded, accepting that there was something else to it, but that Draco was not going to explain. He’d have to wait and see.

Harry floated his new gifts onto his bed before cleaning up the mess. “Dinner?” he asked Draco.

“Starving,” Draco replied easily.

They walked up the hill to the castle in a companionable silence, though Harry’s mind was whirring. He was still trying to come to grips with how he felt about Draco, and he found himself analysing every moment they’d had since meeting again those few weeks before.

He couldn’t tell where Draco stood; asking him outright was not even an option. As far as he could tell, Draco had relaxed into their friendship and was relatively comfortable with where they were now. It was a different friendship than any other he’d experienced. Closer, in a lot of ways; he’d never told Ron about his nightmares, not like this, and he and Ron would never be so comfortable physically. But that didn’t necessarily mean…

“Harry?” Draco’s voice cut into his angst-riddled reflection.

Harry looked up, blinking. He’d disappeared into himself at some point, eating automatically, and now dinner was over.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mumbled, not meeting Draco’s eyes. “Tired. Flew longer than I’d planned.” He hadn’t told Draco how much time he’d spent sitting up on the Astronomy Tower, in the end.

“Let’s head back down, then. Nothing on tomorrow, you could get an early night,” Draco said.

Harry nodded and followed him out of the castle.

“Those girls were watching you pretty closely,” Draco mentioned as they crossed the dark lawn.

“What girls?” Harry asked.

“The ones who gave you the spiked chocolates.” Draco reminded him. It felt like a million years ago.

“Oh yeah,” Harry said. “Do you think McGonagall spoke to them?”

“Oh yes,” Draco replied, smirking, “It was far more ‘staring daggers’ than ‘lovesick’.”

“Right.” Harry replied, not really in the mood to discuss lovesickness. “Look, I’ll head to bed, I think,” he said.

“Alright,” Draco said. “Take your snitch.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. “For all this,” he waved one arm at the still exploding fireworks and decorations.

“No problem, Harry.”

Harry took himself off to bed, relieved when he slid into his bed without having encountered Draco again. His snitch was hovering near his bed, the steady thrumming of its wings quite comforting. Harry sighed to himself. He was going to have to get this thing under control if he was going to survive. Tomorrow was another day. He’d go and see Hagrid and do his utmost to act like a normal person.

+++

Harry slept through without a nightmare the next night, and the next. Three nights in a row was his record, and it hadn’t escaped his notice that Draco had also avoided nightmares.

“What’s the deal with the snitch, Draco?” Harry asked him one day. It was unusually rainy and they sat in the common room lost in their respective books – Defensive Magical Theory for Harry, Jinxes and Counter Jinxes for Draco.

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, marking his place with one long finger.

“You know what I mean,” Harry said impatiently. “Three nights of proper sleep in a row.”

Draco looked a little guilty, then sighed. “It sings a lullaby. In faerie.”

Harry had the oddest feeling that he was speaking to Hermione. “I beg your pardon?”

“Faerie song is too high pitched for humans to hear but their lullabies are known to induce dreamless sleep. Sometimes.” Draco shifted uncomfortably. “When it’s dark and quiet, the snitch sings.” Harry was still speechless, and Draco kept speaking. “I modified it a bit, so if we have…if Lumos is cast, so we can see, it’ll still sing. In case it doesn’t work. It doesn’t always work every night.”

Harry was flabbergasted. “You did all that?” he said, just managing to stop himself adding, ‘for me?’ to the end.

“It’s not much,” Draco muttered. “I don’t have much money, you know that…”

“Draco,” Harry said seriously, sitting up and putting down his book, “look at me.”

Startled, Draco looked up from where he’d been rubbing at a spot on his knee. Harry held his gaze for a long moment before saying clearly, “That is the most thoughtful gift I had ever received. Thank you.”

Draco held his gaze for another long minute, then nodded and returned to his book. Harry sat back slowly, still watching Draco as he thought. Every time he reckoned he’d got himself under control, something happened to make Harry second guess things.

“Think I’ll go and see Hagrid,” Harry said, standing instead of picking up his book.

“Sure,” Draco replied, still frowning a little. Without thinking about it, Harry dropped one hand onto his shoulder as he passed, just letting the weight settle for a moment before picking it up and leaving the common room.

+++

Hagrid was home, Harry was relieved to see.

“Hello!” Harry called as he approached, and the door opened for him.

Hagrid’s smiling face appeared. “Hello there,” he said, welcoming Harry in. “Cuppa tea, then?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry said, shaking his umbrella and standing it in the corner. He could see Hagrid had been doing something; sorting a large pile of mixed coloured stones. “What are these?” he asked, not touching the stones. They were shivering slightly, he could see, despite the unmoving table.

“Eggs,” Hagrid told him, poking the fire with his umbrella. It immediately sprung to life under the kettle. “A mixed bunch. Magical slugs sometimes lay them all together, and I wanna separate them out before they hatch.”

“Why?” Harry asked. The eggs were beautiful, all dark shades of blue and green, a few red and several deep gold. Harry would have mistaken them for rocks if Hagrid hadn’t mentioned it.

“Well some of ‘em are flesh eating slugs, we don’t wan’ those around, do we?” Hagrid asked, picking up a green one. “And these blue ones are Flobberworms – gonna give ‘em to the Secon’-Years to care for. Red ones are rare, Harry, they’re mokes. Not all that maternal, mokes, so they hide their eggs with the slugs an’ let the young ‘uns fend for themselves. Not sure what I’ll do with them ones when they hatch. Might just let ‘em go into the Forest.”

“Right,” Harry replied. “Can I touch them?”

“Course,” Hagrid told him. Harry picked one up, rolling it gently as he sat, his thoughts whirling again.

“Y’all righ’, Harry?” Hagrid asked. He’d sat down, but was staring anxiously at Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry said, though it was with such little conviction even he wasn’t sure he believed himself.

“Only y’seem a bit…down in the dumps,” Hagrid said. He stood up and poured the both tea, shoving Harry’s across the table to him.

“Thanks…it’s just…Malfoy and I are the only two here.” Harry said. He was careful to call Draco ‘Malfoy’, which felt odd.

“There’s a bunch of kids here, what are you on about?” Hagrid asked.

“Yeah, a bunch of little kids who tried to poison me,” Harry grumbled, knowing he was exaggerating.

“Wha’?” Hagrid said, immediately sounding outraged.

“It was a Love Potion,” Harry sighed, resigned to the sound of Hagrid’s chuckling when he understood. “But I’m not really wanting to hang out with them, you know?”

“Can’t say I see you wanting to hang out with Draco Malfoy either, Harry.” Hagrid said. His eyes were shrewd as he looked at Harry. “But you’ve been thick as thieves, you have.”

Harry wondered how much Hagrid had already guessed.

“Yeah, we fly together a bit,” he said. Without thinking he was sorting the eggs, shifting blue to one side and green to the other, adding red to the small pile Hagrid had made. He found a gold one and started rolling it between his fingers.

“We’ve talked,” Harry said awkwardly. “Draco and I. He’s changed a lot. So have I.” A mirthless grin chased across his face. “Never really had a chance, between his family and mine.”

Hagrid was quiet, nursing his tea as Harry stumbled on, trying to explain the unusual friendship he and Draco now shared. If Hagrid noticed him saying ‘Draco’ he didn’t comment. Harry left out some bits, glossed over others. Some things were private and he knew Draco wouldn’t want him sharing all the details.

“It sounds like,” Hagrid said slowly, when Harry finished and was still twirling the deep gold egg in his fingers, “you and Draco,” so he had noticed, “have become friends.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “We kind of have.”

“Have you told Ron and Hermione?” Hagrid asked. “Not sure how they’ll take it, to be hones’ wit’ you.”

“Me either,” Harry admitted. “I think the start of term might be difficult.”

“If he really has changed, Harry,” Hagrid said earnestly, taking the gold egg from Harry, “people will see it.”

“If they give him a chance,” Harry said, surprised at the note of bitterness in his voice.

“Maybe he’ll need some help, then,” Hagrid acknowledged. “Talk to Ron and Hermione. Get them up here a day or two early, get them to talk to Draco, see what he’s like. If y’have a few people talkin’ to him, treatin’ him normal, the others’ll follow soon enough.”

Harry nodded, the lump in his throat and burning behind his eyes preventing speech.

“If he makes you happy, Harry,” Hagrid said, so quietly his voice was just a low rumble, “you fight for him, you hear me?”

Harry nodded, his heart thumping. Was Hagrid saying…what was Hagrid saying? Haltingly, he looked up, meeting the beetle black eyes of his friend.

“’S alrigh’, Harry,” Hagrid said with a smile. “Maybe you should take this.” He handed Harry the gold egg. “Might bring you luck.”

“What is it?” Harry said, grateful for the change of topic.

“It’s a Golden Snigget egg,” Hagrid said. “They used to be used in Quidditch before the Snitch was invented. Once it hatches it’ll imprint on the first person it sees, follow ‘em around forever. They’re fast but fragile, mind, don’t try and pick it up or you’ll squash it. Loyal as anything, they are, and easy to keep – they eat just about anything, you don’ need to do a thing.” Hagrid beamed at him.

“Thanks, Hagrid,” Harry said. “And thanks for the birthday present.”

“No problem,” Hagrid replied. “Buckbeak wan’ed to say happy birthday too. You can write with that quill, it’ll last a good long while.”

He beamed, then his eyes dropped back to the golden egg Harry was cradling. “Erm, you migh’ want to keep it quiet, though, not strictly supposed to have Sniggets as pets. There’re some in the Forest, I think, see the eggs sometimes. I usually leave ‘em, let nature take its course. Though’ you might need some cheerin’ up, though, and they’re funny little buggers.”

“Thanks,” Harry said again. “For everything.”

“Alrigh’,” Hagrid said, his eyes shining. “Off with yo’ then, work to do.”

Harry grinned at the gruff reply and made his way back to the common room, cradling the egg carefully with one hand as he held his umbrella with the other. It was vibrating quite hard now, and he wondered if it was close to hatching.

“Hi,” Harry said as he entered, discarding his umbrella and placing the egg carefully on his scarf on the table. Draco was sitting at the window. He started as Harry spoke, obviously having been lost in his own thoughts.

“Hi,” Draco replied automatically.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked. It looked as though Draco had been crying. Red eyes, paler face than usual.

“Yeah, fine,” Draco said, and Harry decided not to push it. “Look, can we go and practice? In the Room of Requirement?”

“Sure,” Harry said. He glanced at his watch. “Lunch is almost over, we could grab some sandwiches and stuff on the way.”

Draco nodded, and they ducked into the Great Hall on their way. Harry was grateful the group of other students was gone, as he stuffed his pockets with sandwiches, fruit and pumpkin juice. They ate as they walked which helped with the slightly awkward atmosphere. Draco seemed to have pulled in on himself, and Harry wasn’t sure where they stood. Could he ask what was wrong again? He didn’t want to push, but it seemed plain to him that something important had happened in the hour or so he’d spent at Hagrid’s.


	9. Admission

“Patronus first?” Harry suggested when they’d eaten their fill and were standing in the middle of the Room. “Might be good to do it while you have the most energy.”

“Yeah,” Draco said. He closed his eyes and frowned, concentrating. When he finally raised his wand, Harry found himself holding his breath.

“Expecto Patronum!” Draco cried. The same rush of pearlescent fog erupted from his wand; it lasted a little longer than last time, but evaporated all the same.

“Damn it!” Draco roared, throwing his wand in frustration. Harry threw up a Shield Charm without thinking, knocking Draco off his feet.

“What the hell was that for?” Draco shouted, scrambling up and stalking over to Harry.

“I didn’t mean to,” Harry protested. “It was just a reaction when you threw your wand.”

“When the Death Eater throws his wand, little Potter gets frightened,” jeered Draco.

Harry froze.

The room was silent, Draco breathing heavily, Harry barely breathing at all. The seconds ticked by, and Harry could see the anger draining out of Draco as he realised what he’d said.

When Harry found he could move, he shifted a little, still holding Draco’s eyes.

“When anybody shouts then throws something, I defend myself.” Harry said very quietly. “It has nothing to do with you personally.” When Draco didn’t move, Harry stepped carefully over, picking up Draco’s wand, checking it was intact. Miraculously, it was – the soft-fall floors had been an addition at some point, he hadn’t even noticed.

Harry locked eyes again with Draco, who had watched his every move. Extending his hand, Harry offered the wand.

“I don’t think of you as a Death Eater, Draco,” Harry said, still in the very quiet, small voice he had used before. “And as you can see, I trust you.”

“I know,” Draco whispered, mortification and shame in his eyes. “Why, though?”

Harry tilted his head. Draco looked brittle, his face strained as he waited for Harry’s reply. “You’ve had plenty of chances to hurt me before now,” Harry said. “But you’ve only ever been…” he groped for the right word. “Kind.”

“Kind.” Draco repeated as though testing the word. “You think I’m kind?”

“Yes,” Harry replied slowly, testing the answer and finding it rang true. “I do.”

“I don’t,” Draco whispered, his voice cracking. To Harry’s surprise, his eyes filled with tears, but he didn’t look away. “I know other people won’t. Kind is not a word you apply to a Dea-”

His voice was cut off by Harry’s hand sliding gently over his mouth.

“No,” Harry said firmly. He slid his wand into his pocket and felt for Draco’s left arm, clutching the forearm, stroking the scar tissue firmly with his thumb through layers of fabric.

“You are not a Death Eater, Draco. Voldemort is dead. He is gone.” Draco had convulsed at the sound of that name, his eyes panicking at Harry’s words. Harry paused. Draco’s tears were running down his cheeks now, pooling against Harry’s hand. He eased off, allowing Draco to breathe through his mouth.

“You were a child,” Harry said. It felt a little ridiculous – they were talking about events less than two years ago, though a lifetime of events had happened in that short time.

“You had no choice, Draco. Your father was making decisions for your family and you. Had. No. Choice.” Draco’s hand came up, clutching Harry’s elbow, his eyes imploring Harry to go on.

“If you had refused this,” Harry pressed his thumb gently into Draco’s forearm, “he would have killed you. We both know that. We know what he was like.” Harry felt his own throat choking up as he remembered the helplessness, the crushing weight of Voldemort’s will.

“I know,” Harry whispered, startled to feel tears dripping down his own cheeks. “I know what he was like. We were children, Draco, caught up in something terrible, and we had no choice.”

“Do you…” the words were muffled, and Harry lowered his hand, letting it settle on Draco’s shoulder. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes,” Harry said firmly. He watched Draco’s face twist as he considered this, his blue eyes rimmed with red.

“Others…the others won’t.”

Draco whispered the words, his voice shaking, and Harry knew he was voicing his greatest fear. Not only of the students, due here in less than a month, but of the rest of the world. Lucius Malfoy’s name was well known enough even before his trial and subsequent incarceration that Draco would always be linked to his father.

“Maybe not,” Harry said, knowing the truth was important. “Not at the start.” He tried for a smile and rather suspected he failed – it felt wobbly and imperfect. “But we can show them.”

With a sob, Draco dropped his head, sobs wracking his body. Without thinking Harry gathered him up, hugging him tight, hoping this was okay. Random thoughts flew through his head as he held Draco close, feeling his hands grip the back of his jacket, the shuddering of his body as he let the fear and grief flow.

Harry wanted to protect Draco.

He hadn’t realised until he’d voiced the words that he really did think of Draco as largely a victim of Voldemort. No, he’d not been all that nice at school – but that was him as a child, a spoiled, brainwashed child of a nasty, spiteful man who had gone on to make frankly atrocious choices for his family.

Harry did not blame Draco – he could still see the frightened student crying in the bathroom, begging for help as he attempted the impossible. In the same position, he might have done the same, hating himself but fearing the repercussions even more. They were so different, but there were similarities in their lives that could not be denied.

Moments passed as they stood in the Room together, Harry’s tears silent as they rolled down his cheeks, warmth from Draco’s body seeping into his own. Harry’s hands had been gripping Draco, but slowly they relaxed, tracing slow circles as he had learned to do when holding Ginny as she sobbed.

Time moved on and Harry found himself linked to the rhythm of Draco’s breathing. The sobs abated, the hands on his back softened. They were both sniffling self-consciously, but neither let go. Harry breathed deeply and slowly, Draco’s scent flooding his brain. The hands on his back were mirroring his own, the slow touch tracing something warmer than it should be. He found himself wishing there were less layers between Draco’s skin and his own, wishing he could feel the texture of Draco’s back under his hands.

The taste of his neck, so temptingly close to Harry’s face.

Harry exhaled, a shaky breath that danced across Draco’s bowed neck. The answering hitch in Draco’s breathing made Harry’s heart pound, and he wondered if Draco could feel it.

Draco shifted, tilting his head, and Harry felt a stream of warm air pool against his neck. He shivered, realising Draco had done it on purpose, had shifted so his mouth was closer to Harry’s skin. The air he’d sent across Harry’s skin had been inside his body, had drawn heat from Draco’s very core.

The idea was intoxicating and Harry’s arms tightened, not wanting Draco to let go. Surely, he would have to breathe out again, and Harry could feel the tantalising almost-touch again. Harry waited, forcing himself to breathe, hyperaware of his own body, of every centimetre pressed against Draco’s warm flesh. His own breath was still passing over Draco’s neck, and he wondered if Draco noticed the building heat.

Before he could hypothesise Draco breathed out again, this time a long slow breath as though fogging up a window.

Harry moaned.

It was barely a sound, the merest vibration of his vocal chords as his blood rushed through his veins, the heat from that spot spreading through his body. It was deliberate and there was no way Draco could have missed Harry’s response. As loud as his own pulse was in his ears, the sound had been as shocking as a bell tolling; there was nothing else in this Room to make any sound at all.

Desperately Harry held his breath, waiting for what came next. Would Draco move, warming another part of his skin? Harry knew this was far beyond the boundaries of usual friendship, but he was unable to do anything more than silently encourage Draco. So much for brave Gryffindors, a small part of his brain berated him. He waited, the moment stretching out.

Feeling Draco breath in. _Shaky. Nervous._

Tightening his hold, fingers clenching just a little as Draco held his breath.

The slightest of whimpers as he felt the beginnings of warmth against his skin, his body rigid.

Gentle as a ghost, lips pressed against Harry’s neck. An open mouth, warm and moist, just sitting, waiting for his reaction. Tentative.

Harry breathed out hard, his body reacting without direction. Hands gripping, head tilting away, a groan from somewhere deep and primal, pressing his face into Draco’s neck, trying desperately to ground himself while one thought repeated through his brain.

_Yes._

His body relaxed and it was only his grip on Draco holding him up. He felt Draco’s arms tighten around him too, the blast of warm air that told him Draco too had been on tenterhooks waiting to see what would happen.

Harry thought he might levitate with the sensation tingling through his body, and then Draco moved his mouth, just a little, still hesitant, unsure. Exploring. Lips tightening just a little, turning the resting, parted mouth on Harry’s skin into a definite kiss.

Draco was kissing him. Harry gasped as the lips drew together, withdrawing before immediately returning, widening this time against his skin, pressing closer. Another whimper as something moved over his skin as though collecting, wiping from the surface. A tongue, it was Draco’s tongue, tasting him, drawing Harry’s flavour into his mouth.

Harry thought he might die, explode with bliss.

After all he’d survived, one slow kiss on his neck from Draco Malfoy would be his downfall.

“Draco,” he whispered, not sure if he was still alive or if perhaps his heaven was this. Either would be good, he thought dazedly.

At the sound of his name, Draco stiffened, his mouth stopping. Harry felt him breathe deeply before his body moved, standing up straight. Harry softened his arms, wondering if Draco was about to leave. Hoping he wasn’t. Watching Draco turn, Harry realised they were still standing quite close, Draco’s arms still holding him there – though he knew he could back away if he wanted to.

“Harry?” Draco asked, his face finally visible.

His expression shattered Harry. It was vulnerable, open and wanting and desperate and Harry knew he could name the emotions because he recognised them. They were in him too, and seeing it, seeing it all on Draco’s face gave him the courage he had not been able to summon. The same strange calm came over him that had sustained him in the graveyard with a newly risen Voldemort. He knew this was the right action, the right thing to do. The timing was as important as the action, and now was the moment.

One hand moved of its own volition, fingers brushing tears from Draco’s cheeks, brushing his hair back from his face. Harry allowed himself to relax his walls, to let the same emotions show on his face as they had on Draco’s. He wanted Draco to understand. He wanted Draco to feel safe here, but also to know he had no idea what he was doing, that this frightened him too. They were the same, and they could trust each other.

He trusted Draco.

A watery smile tugged at Harry’s lips as astonishment blossomed with understanding in Draco’s face. Harry’s hand palmed Draco’s jawline, the roughness catching on his fingertips.

“You need a shave,” Harry murmured, and the resulting blush colouring Draco’s cheeks was nothing short of adorable. Draco lowered his head carefully, resting his forehead on Harry’s, his eyes closing. Harry matched him, incredulous at the intimacy they had spun out of such a difficult conversation. He breathed deeply, his mind now recognising the faint cologne as Draco’s, the patches of warmth against his head and palm comforting. Draco’s arms still wound around his back, keeping him close.

I want to kiss him, Harry thought. Immediately his eyes flew open, taking a second to adjust to the proximity of Draco. Instinctively he tilted his head up a little, searching Draco’s face. He looks content, Harry thought.

His adjustment had been felt, of course, and Harry found himself looking into Draco’s eyes. There was still a little uncertainty there, and Harry wondered how long it would take for him to chase that away, how much reassurance Draco would need before he accepted Harry’s affection. For now, he smiled and drew up his Gryffindor courage.

“I want…can I kiss you?” Harry asked. It felt awkward, but this one last hurdle – the last breath of self-doubt – needed to be overcome. He needed to hear the words.

“I-if you want to.” Draco whispered, his voice overflowing with need. Harry could hear him asking for reassurance of his own, and it spurred him once again.

“I do,” Harry replied, and Draco whimpered a little, his eyes dropping to Harry’s mouth. Harry pressed forward, his eyes open until the first contact. After that he couldn’t tell how long they stood, mouths gently locked together. Slow and gentle, lips caressing, soft whimpers and moans filling the air.

Arms wrapped around his back again, pulling him close, pressing his chest into Draco’s warmth. He in turn held on, hand sliding back into Draco’s hair, thumb rubbing slowly against his neck. It was grounding, having something other than his mouth to focus on. That in itself was intoxicating, and Harry wondered if Draco could feel how aroused he was.

The idea of that particular conversation pulled Harry up short and he shifted his hips away, pressing a last kiss to Draco’s mouth before leaning back slightly. He was panting, as was Draco, and they stood in the quiet for a few moments as their breathing evened out. Finally, Draco stepped back, hands trailing over Harry’s sides as he moved away. Harry watched, the tug of disappointment at his distance an odd little prickle down his spine.

“So,” Harry said, clearing his throat.

“So,” Draco repeated, his voice and face guarded again. Harry stared, wondering how deeply Draco had hidden this, this desire he had wanted so desperately only seconds ago. Was it that nobody had asked, or had there simply been nobody who looked at him hard enough to see the burden?

“I’m…that was…” Harry started, and he saw Draco shift uneasily. He took a deep breath.

“Good,” he said. Short and clear. Easier on his brain. “That was good.” Harry’s smile was forced to begin with, but the surprise and pleasure on Draco’s face flooded it into a genuine grin.

“Really?” Draco asked.

“Really,” Harry replied. When Draco blushed, not quite able to take his eyes from Harry, an impulsive thought crossed his mind.

“Where’s your wand?” Harry asked.

Draco frowned, but pulled his wand from his pocket. Harry smiled at him, nodded a little to say, ‘trust me’, and kissed Draco again, putting as much affection and trust into it as he could manage. When he released Draco, the blond gasped, eyes wide before smiling again, the same pleasure flooding his face.

“Hold onto that,” Harry said, his face still close, his own heart pounding. He turned Draco around, embracing him, and slid his hand along Draco’s arm, raising his wand hand. “Let it fill you up. Use it.”

Draco paused a second, then said clearly, “Expecto Patronum.”

Something long and fast shot out of the end of Draco’s wand and bolted away, body swaying as it ran across the room. He almost dropped his wand arm in astonishment, but Harry held it up, murmuring in his ear.

“Keep it going.”

The animal turned at the wall, walking slowly back across the room to Draco, dropping to its belly before him. Draco kept it there for a few moments, watching it until it rose once more and twisted in midair, disappearing.

“Wow.” Draco breathed, and Harry felt him lean back a little into the embrace. “What do you think it was?”

“Some kind of big lizard,” Harry said. “Whatever it is, it’s corporeal – so it will protect you well.”

“Wow,” Draco said again.

“You did it,” Harry said warmly.

“Just needed the right memory,” Draco said. He turned and pressed a quick kiss to Harry’s mouth, pulling away shyly before Harry could react. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Harry said. “Not that you’ll really be needing a Patronus…”

“Not for the Patronus,” Draco said, his smile tentatively affectionate. “For the memory.”

“Oh,” Harry replied, feeling a blush heating his own cheeks at the compliment. “You’re welcome.”

“I have no idea what time it is,” Draco said, stowing his wand, “but I’m starving.”

Harry didn’t bother looking at his watch. He grinned. “Have you ever tickled a pear?” he asked.

When Draco looked confused, Harry laughed, grabbing his hand. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the House Elves.”


	10. Awareness (and Felix)

It was almost dinner time, as it turned out, but the house elves were as pleased to see Harry as they ever had been. Draco was a little hesitant but the elves were so happy to serve anyone that he finally relaxed, taking a cup of tea and a warm scone.

Kreacher was here, Harry was happy to see. He could feel Draco’s astonished gaze as he spoke to Kreacher, asking how he was and what he wanted to do now that the war was over.

“I know you’re bound to the Blacks,” Harry told him. “But Sirius is gone, so what, I mean, what does that mean for you?”

“Master Harry is very kind to ask about Kreacher,” the croaky voiced little elf replied. He shrugged. “Kreacher is still your elf, Master Harry.”

Harry nodded then slowly pulled his scarf from around his neck. With a solemn expression, he offered it to Kreacher without a word. Kreacher hesitated before slowly reaching for the striped fabric. Harry heard his whispered words, and the echo of Dobby was strong.

“Kreacher is a free elf, now.”

“And are you…alright about…that?” Harry asked tentatively. He’d seen the range of reactions – from Dobby’s elation to Winky’s desperate denial – and wasn’t sure exactly how Keracher would respond to his freedom.

“Kreacher would serve Master Harry, if Master Potter would like,” Kreacher replied. “But if not, Kreacher is happy here. If Master Harry doesn’t mind Kreacher staying.”

“Of course not, Kreacher,” Harry replied. “If you want to stay here, that’s fine with me.” He accepted another cream puff from another elf as Kreacher beamed.

“I can come and see you, if you’re here,” Harry said impulsively.

“Certainly, Master Harry.” Kreacher handed the scarf back to Harry. “Kreacher thinks Master Harry will be needing his scarf, though.”

Harry grinned at him, accepting it back. “We should go, now though,” he said. “Actually, might take a few of these for the road?” He eyed Draco’s face as the house elves scurried up to him, filling his arms with boxes – cream puffs and scones and jam and butterbeer.

“Thanks!” Harry called as he and Draco left.

“How did you…” Draco asked, waving one full hand back at the still life now hanging where the doorway had been.

“Forth-Year,” Harry replied, bewitching the food to float down to their common-room from the Entrance Hall. “The Weasley twins told me. Well, they told Hermione.”

“Seriously?” Draco breathed. He looked hard at Harry. “You found out a lot about this school, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Hufflepuff’s the only common-room I haven’t visited, maybe I’ll-”

“What?” Draco said as they walked into the Great Hall for dinner. “What do you mean…when did you get into the Slytherin common-room?”

“Um,” Harry tried to remember. “Second-Year, I think.”

Draco stared. “How?” he asked.

“Polyjuice Potion,” Harry replied. “You were there, actually. Ron and I thought you were the heir of Slytherin, so we tried to ask you about it. You wouldn’t have talked to either of us, so we Polyjuiced ourselves into Crabbe and Goyle.”

“Urgh,” Draco said as they sat down, “I bet they taste foul.”

“They did,” Harry replied. “And Luna took me up to Ravenclaw Tower when we were looking for the Diadem.”

“Salazar, Harry,” Draco said, ignoring the food that had just appeared around them, “you didn’t waste your time here, did you?”

“I tried very hard to,” Harry protested. “Not much to show for it, though.”

“Apart from the bloody great scar, you mean?” Draco replied.

“Yeah,” Harry said, “but that was from before.” He rubbed absentmindedly at his forehead for a second. “I forget about it now. It hasn’t hurt for ages.”

Draco’s knife and fork slowed, then he said casually, “I hope that happens to me.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“My scar.” Draco twitched his left arm. “Still hurts a lot, actually.”

“What, when people touch it?” Harry asked. “Merlin, I touched it before…why didn’t you say something?”

“You say ‘people’ like anyone’s gone near me in the last year, Harry,” Draco said. He looked down at his plate as he admitted, “And I didn’t notice it hurting before. My attention was elsewhere.”

Harry grinned, feeling his face heat, pleased to see a matching flush on Draco’s cheeks. He was still self-conscious about this, whatever it was, and it was comforting to see Draco wrestling with it too.

“Right,” Harry said, a little dazed. He took some sausages, absentmindedly handing them to Draco. They ate in silence, Harry wondering what Draco was thinking about. It wasn’t until they were making their way through the darkness to their common-room that Harry spoke.

“You’re not angry, are you? About the Polyjuice.” It had been a long time ago, but…

“No, of course not,” Draco replied. Harry must have looked puzzled, because he explained, “It’s a very sneaky thing to do. Very Slytherin.”

“The Sorting Hat almost sorted me into Slytherin,” Harry found himself saying. He had no idea why he’d admitted that to Draco, when nobody else knew. It fitted with the conversation, though, and he wanted Draco to know.

“My parents would have been…upset if I’d been anywhere but Slytherin,” Draco said.

“Your father would have heard about it?” Harry asked, teasing.

“He would,” Draco replied seriously. “He would have tried to make the Hat Sort me again.”

Harry snorted at the idea of Lucius shouting at the Sorting Hat. He opened the common-room door, letting them in before closing it against the cool evening air.

Harry turned to find Draco standing very close.

“Harry,” Draco breathed, his eyes roaming over Harry’s face in the half light.

Without speaking, Harry curled one hand around Draco’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss, backing himself against the door. The contact was relief, and Harry realised they’d dropped their held hands as soon as they’d left the Room of Requirement and hadn’t touched since then. Who knew Draco’s skin would be so intoxicating? He felt Draco’s hands hit the door beside his head, the vibration matching the feel of Draco’s groan as it rumbled through both their chests. Hesitantly Draco parted his lips against Harry’s, his tongue pressing carefully along Harry’s lower lip.

“Oh!” Harry’s gasp was pure lust – it streaked from his lips to his groin and shattered, cartwheeling around his body like Weasley’s Wildfire Whiz-bangs. When Draco stilled, unsure of the reaction, Harry hastened to meet Draco’s tongue with his own, a gentle caress against the curl of muscle. They stood stock still, only their mouths moving, touching and exploring, both still tentative with this new dynamic.

Harry thought desperately that if he wasn’t holding back, if he just let himself loose with all the energy he was feeling, there would be hands and mouths in all sorts of places…the idea was both frightening and far more arousing than any sexual thought he’d ever had.

As though he could hear Harry’s thoughts, Draco pulled away, leaning on his hands and burying his face in Harry’s neck, breathing deep and uneven. Harry’s hand was still against the back of his neck, soothing a circle as they both struggled for air.

“Merlin,” Draco whispered. “You are remarkable.”

“I am?” Harry said.

“Yeah?”

“Better kisser than Pansy?” Harry teased.

 “Not that I’d know,” Draco replied. His eyes sparkled as he added, “but there are certain effects you’re having on me, Potter.”

The gruff tone, almost a growl, shot straight to Harry’s groin, and he bit back a groan.

“Mutual, I’d say,” he managed.

Draco grinned. “Good,” he replied, dropping a quick kiss on Harry’s mouth.

“But seriously, the kitchens,” Draco said, stepping back and sliding into his usual seat near the window.

Harry stood, frowning a little. “What about them?”

“Well, I didn’t even know where they were there,” Draco replied. “I mean, I knew there were kitchens, but we just summoned an elf.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “They’re not as…insensitive as I was lead to believe.”

“No,” Harry replied carefully. He knew this was a big thing for Draco – probably something he never really thought about, house elves; they were just part of a house, like the doors and the walls, and deserved no more consideration. He could see it still working through Draco’s mind.

As Harry went to clear the coffee table so he could sit on it – close to Draco – he noticed something.

“Merlin,” he said, poking at the broken eggshell.

“What?” Draco asked. “What’s that?” he said.

“Golden Snigget egg,” Harry said absently. “Must have hatched while we were out.”

He frowned. Hagrid hadn’t given him much other advice about the bird other than ‘don’t pick it up’ – Harry had no idea what to do about it right now.

“If you see it, it’s tiny, like a snitch,” Harry told Draco, his eyes roving the room as he spoke. “Don’t pick it up, it’s really delicate.”

“Um, okay,” Draco said, looking around the room. “Where is it?”

Harry shrugged. “I guess it’ll show itself when it’s ready.”

“Okay,” Draco replied, easing himself back into his chair. Harry picked up his book and settled in the chair beside Draco, resting his legs on Draco’s as he found his page.

They passed a quiet evening, Harry reading until his eyes almost closed of their own accord.

“Bedtime,” he announced, yawning. Draco was nodding off too, and Harry poked him until he woke. They stumbled into their dormitory, trading off the bathroom and crawling into bed. Harry was too tired to consider anything other than a mumbled, “’Night, Draco.”

“Night, Harry,” came from Draco’s bed. Harry smiled to himself as the wings of his snitch started whirring.

+++

“What the-”

Harry bolted upright, casting Lumos Maxima without thinking. Draco was sitting up and Harry was half way around the bed before he saw it.

A tiny golden bird, a little puff of a thing, was settled on Draco’s head. It looked disgruntled, flapping its wings and twittering angrily at him. When Draco stilled and stopped shouting, the bird settled down, tucking its beak under its wing, somehow managing to look quite put out by all the fuss.

“What the hell is that?” Draco asked in a furious whisper, pointing at his head.

Harry, who was trying not to laugh, said, “I think that’s the Snigget. It…um…appeared to have bonded with you.”

“BONDED WITH ME?” Draco whispered as loudly as possible while keeping his head perfectly still. “What do you mean, bonded with me?”

“They bond to the first human they see,” Harry explained. “I’d say it’s yours now.”

Draco’s outrage was palpable, but Harry couldn’t take him seriously with a tiny golden bird perched on his head.

“Look, we’ll go and see Hagrid tomorrow, see what he has to say.”

“Right,” Draco said. “And in the meantime I just have to sleep with a bird on my head?”

Harry choked back a laugh. “No, I’d say it would probably be okay in your scarf or something, here...” he fetched Draco’s scarf and made a kind of nest. Draco offered the bird his hand then carefully transferred it, and it happily settled in the scarf with a self-satisfied wiggle.

He shot a look at Harry.

“Not a word,” he warned. “Not a single word.”

“Of course,” Harry choked, his laughter rising close once again. He climbed back into bed and turned out the lights once again, the grin on his face unrestrained in the dark.

+++

The next few days were blissfully uneventful. Harry and Draco visited Hagrid, who was thankfully happy enough to have Draco sitting drinking tea in his home.

Harry watched Draco watching Hagrid with the tiny bird and could almost feel the bigotry beginning to melt. The ‘great oaf’, as Draco had referred to him more than once before the War, was gentle with the fragile bird, murmuring to it and finding a clutch of tiny bowtruckle eggs for it to feast on. He’d explained that Harry was right, the bird saw Draco as its human and would be unlikely to change allegiance. He explained to a disgruntled Draco how to care for it before they left, returning to the common-room through one of the summer showers disrupting the week.

With the inclement weather coming and going, Harry found his days less structured as he and Draco tried to take advantage of breaks in the weather to go flying or walk down to Hogsmede. It was nice, Harry thought one day, as he and Draco lounged in their common room. Nice to just spend time together, getting comfortable together in this new way.

He’d Floo’ed up to Gryffindor and back so they could play Wizard’s chess with Ron’s old set after Draco’s self-assured comments about his prowess at the game. They were fairly evenly matched as far as skill was concerned; it was Draco’s complete lack of ethics that gave him the edge.

He had no qualms in running his hand absently up Harry’s thigh as he studied the board, or stretching innocently, allowing the hem of his t-shirt to rise, showing off the pale skin below his belly button. Kisses at inopportune moments were always cut short, leaving Harry breathless and a little dazed.

Eventually Harry had abandoned the game, taking Draco’s face in his hands instead and kissing him properly, chess game be damned. What had started out heated had mellowed, and they’d spent the afternoon almost dozing, kissing and holding each other as the rain and sunlight alternated through the day.

The quiet intimacy was something Harry never knew he was missing. They didn’t talk much, other than quiet words about the rain or murmuring comments to Felix, Draco’s Golden Snigget. It hadn’t grown any bigger since hatching but had clearly decided that while Draco was its main human, Harry was to be tolerated, and sometimes nested in, too. As such, it shifted back and forth between the two of them, depending on who was arranged most to its liking.

Having the tiny bird accept him, accept _them_ , was oddly satisfying. The cocoon they had drawn around themselves included the little bird; in Harry’s head it was their talisman, a bright promise of their connection. He wondered if Draco felt the same. A quiet part of him thought to ask but it felt too much like a proper conversation. The bubble was too precious to burst quite yet.

He breathed deeply, feeling Draco’s chest expand along with his own. Being close enough to feel that, to know what was happening to Draco’s body first hand was amazing. Even the fact that they were both here, alive, hearts thumping against ribs, was remarkable, and he was determined to properly appreciate this time before term started.

+++

They’d had the Snigget almost a week when Harry received a message from Neville, inviting him to tea.

“Go,” Draco told him, pulling him down for a quick kiss. “I’ll be here.” He was stretched out on the sofa, reading the Quibbler – another thing Harry had converted him over to. Xenophilius’ articles were still amusing, but there was a definite move away from semi-mythical creatures and into more verifiable articles.

“Hi Neville,” Harry greeted his friend. He looked around Neville’s sitting-room – the nicest the Three Broomsticks had to offer. “Nice place.”

“Thanks,” Neville said self-consciously. “Bit weird, being on my own. I’ll be up at the school a lot, I expect.”

“Did McGonagall not offer you rooms?” Harry asked, taking the seat Neville awkwardly offered him.

Neville shook his head. “She did, but I told her I wanted to be on my own for a bit. Just see what it’s like.”

Harry nodded. He understood how Neville, just finding himself, would want some autonomy, at least for a while. Madame Rosmerta knocked just then, bringing in tea and cakes. Harry smiled at her, and she winked as she left.

“So are you Professor Longbottom now?” Harry asked as Neville poured the tea. He immediately felt bad as the blush reddened Neville’s ears.

“No,” he said, “Just Neville, at least until Pomona – that is, Professor Sprout – leaves. If I’m offered the job.”

“Of course you will be, Neville,” Harry encouraged him. He took a sip of tea. “Have you heard who’s taking up the empty posts?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t know if I ought to talk about it,” Neville said, face doubtful.

“I’ll find out soon enough,” Harry said, not wanting to pressure his friend.

“Well, it can’t hurt,” Neville replied. “Bill Weasley’s coming to take up Defence Against the Dark Arts. He and Fleur want to be closer to the family, you know?”

Harry nodded. Fleur had lost her sister and parents in the War as the Death Eaters had searched for Harry in ever more unlikely places. The Weasleys were all they had left, now, and with children to raise, he wasn’t surprised they wanted to be nearer the Burrow.

“And what about Potions?” he asked. It would be odd to take a Potions class again, he thought. Slughorn had been easier than Snape to deal with, of course, but the Half-Blood Prince had still influenced his classes.

“McGonagall has asked Slughorn to come back,” Neville replied. “He’s the best, from what she said.” He leaned forward. “Between you and me, I think she gave him a good guilt trip. The last Head of Slytherin had been so unexpected in the end. Really, though, I reckon she just needed someone.”

Harry frowned. He knew a great deal more about the last Head of Slytherin than anybody. While he was still at the Burrow, the question of what to do about it had plagued him, but since returning it had not entered his head.

“What do you mean about Snape?”

Neville looked at him. “Well, I mean, that stuff you said, Harry…he’d been working for Dumbledore, trying to protect your mother and then you.” He shook his head. “He must have been seriously skilled at…what’d you call it, protecting your mind…”

“Occlumency,” Harry answered automatically. “Yeah, he gave me some lessons.”

“Really?” Neville looked surprised. “Well, yeah, I mean, you told You-Know-Who, right at the end…don’t you remember?”

Harry shook his head. The whole of that last bit of the battle was a blur. He remembered concentrating so hard, those red eyes boring into him, his throat burning as he shouted words, anything to keep Voldemort’s attention…and then the blazing light of sunrise, a spell shouted to the heavens…

“Well, you shouted quite a lot of stuff. Lots of people heard it.” Neville sounded a bit defensive, Harry realised. “I thought the Prophet would have contacted you.”

“I haven’t really seen the Prophet since before,” Harry told him. “Heard a few things, read a bit of one article.” He didn’t really want to go into it right now. The Weasleys and the remainder of the Order had fiercely protected the Burrow and its inhabitants from the press. It had been such an isolated cocoon of grief he hadn’t even been aware of the renewed interest in him until leaving the Burrow.

A slightly awkward silence fell. Harry took a cake, wondering how to change the subject without offending Neville. Finally, though, Neville spoke.

 “Look Harry, I wanted to ask you something,” he said, and Harry could hear the discomfort in his voice. “It’s about Malfoy.”

“Draco,” Harry corrected him. There was a tense silence.

“Yeah,” Neville said carefully. “How are things going? I mean, you’re the only two Eighth-Years yet, and,” he gave a nervous laugh, “I might have thought you’d Hex’d each other off the planet by now.”

Harry gave a wry grin. “Yeah, I can see that,” he said. Putting down his empty teacup, he let the smile slide away.

“Draco,” he said carefully, making sure Neville noticed the use of his first name, “is a lot different to the kid we were at school with.”

Neville looked sceptical, but Harry held up one hand, bidding him listen. “I said the same thing to McGonagall when she told me he’d already arrived. I was…angry. But she asked me to talk to him, to ask him about his life, what it was like.” Harry was careful not to give specifics about the Malfoys – that was Draco’s story, if he wanted to tell it. But Neville was here and listening, and Harry wanted to explain.

“I did, Neville. I listened, and I looked at him.” He took a deep breath. “He and I are a lot the same. Both kids born into something bigger than us. Still not even of age when we had to make a choice, a grown wizard’s choice about which side to follow. Only I had friends, teachers, allies. He had his parents and a bunch of kids of people who’d chosen Voldemort.”

Harry sighed. “Look, none of this is really a secret, but it’s not for general gossip, alright?” Neville nodded. “Draco’s had the Mark removed from his arm. It looks bloody awful, Neville, must have hurt like…” Harry shook his head. “It still hurts.” Harry wondered briefly if it would ever stop causing Draco pain.

“I’ve forgiven him, if that’s even the right word.” He remembered what he’d told Draco, the first day by the lake. “I’m not angry, because I don’t want to be. There’s been enough of all that. The only two things I know for sure are I have no idea what to do now, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life hating people.” He looked at Neville, imploring him to understand. “That’s how all this started, Neville. Fear, and hatred. I just don’t want that anymore.” He forced a half smile. “If I can move on, I’d like to hope everyone else can at least try.”

Neville looked at him for a long time. “Moving on is harder,” he said carefully, “when there’s something there to remind you.” With a wrench, Harry remembered, and knew Neville was talking about his parents.

“Yes,” Harry said, “and I’m not saying you shouldn’t be angry at Bellatrix.” Neville flinched at the name. “Sorry. Or Voldemort. Sorry. But I’m going to be completely selfish here. That happened before Draco was born.” He took a deep steadying breath, knowing he was asking a lot of Neville. “Perhaps you could start with Draco. Start…just listening to him. Watching him, seeing how he treats people now.”

Neville sat back, eyes still on Harry. For a very long time, he didn’t speak. Finally, he drew in a sudden breath and said, “He came to see me.”

“What?” Harry said. “Who?”

“Malf- Draco.”

“When?” Harry asked automatically.

“A few days ago.” Harry wondered where he had been. Flying, maybe? “It was your birthday, actually,” Neville said. “I gave him your present.”

“Oh, he passed it on. Thank you.” Harry said, the courtesy a curious aside to this intense conversation.

Neville nodded, rubbing his palms nervously on his trousers.

“What did he say?” Harry asked, his heart in his mouth.

“He apologised.” Neville said simply.

“For what?” Harry asked.

“For being a twat,” Neville replied. “I believe he used the phrases ‘self-important douche-bag’ and ‘nasty little snitch’.”

Harry was speechless.

Neville went on, “He was like a different person. Genuine you know, I could see it in his eyes. He looked like he was trying to be invisible.” Harry nodded. It sounded exactly like the Draco he had met that first day.

“He also offered his apologies on behalf of his family,” Neville said, “for the actions of his aunt.” Harry could see the struggle as Neville bit back emotion.

“Right,” Harry said, with no idea what else to say to this.

“I accepted his apologies,” Neville told Harry, meeting his eyes. “He was hardly the only mean kid at school, and it doesn’t seem so important now, after everything. And you’re right – he doesn’t have to apologise for his aunt. But he made the effort to see me and ask permission to take Herbology this year.” He looked seriously at Harry. “That’s not the Draco Malfoy I knew from school, Harry. There must be something different in him, and I’m willing to give him a chance. I wanted to see what you had to say about him before I told you that.”

Harry nodded, the lump once again blocking his throat. He and Neville sat for a while, the sombre mood surrounding them as they ate their afternoon tea.

“Thank you,” Harry said.

“So there’s more to this than friends, right?” Neville said, the change of conversational direction taking Harry by surprise.

“What?” He asked, but he couldn’t stop the flush stealing up his cheeks.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you two, thick as thieves you are,” Neville said smugly. While Harry was pleased to be off the subject of whether or not Draco would be welcomed into the Greenhouses, this was not exactly what he’d had in mind as an alternative.

“You’ve been gossiping with Hagrid,” Harry said.

“Yeah, I have,” Neville said shamelessly. “He’s seen it too. Flying together, walking up to the castle for hours at a time…”

“Alright, so what?” Harry said. “It’s not like there’s a huge choice, you know. It’s Draco or a bunch of little kids who tried to poison me!”

“Poison?” Neville asked.

“Love Potion in chocolates,” Harry said resignedly. “McGonagall tested them for me.”

Neville gave a shout of laughter, and Harry found himself bearing a begrudging smile.

“Hilarious, I know,” he muttered.

“Yeah, well, if you and Draco don’t want to be the talk of the new term, tone it down a bit,” Neville told him. “In fact, I bet you a Galleon McGonagall’ll pull you both in for a ‘talk’ before term starts.”

Harry rolled his eyes at this, but the thought lingered as he said his farewells and started back towards the castle. What would he and Draco do when term started up again?


	11. Progression

Harry thought about his conversation with Neville the whole way home. It had been complicated, full of surprises for him. He appreciated Neville’s support, and his preparedness to give Draco a chance. It gave him hope that others impacted by the War might also be prepared to give Draco a chance.

And Draco had gone to see Neville. It was a surprising move, one Harry had not anticipated. It certainly had affected Neville, too. As he passed into the Hogwarts grounds, Harry wondered what other conversations Draco had instigated with others.

He was disappointed to find the common-room empty when he returned. It was odd to find it empty of one person. He wondered how it would feel full of people? There were only ten of them, the Eighth-Years, but the room would be crowded if they were all here. It was unlikely, he allowed, given their ready access to both the House Common Rooms and Hogsmeade. Still, it would be odd having other people here all the time.

Harry let his mind wander for a while, thinking about getting back to the rigours of schoolwork. The absence of Snape was certainly a plus, especially if Slughorn was his replacement. He wondered how much of his O.W.L. work he’d remember – his Sixth-Year, supposedly the first of two N.E.W.T. years, had been rather full of not getting killed.

He was just smirking to himself – every year had featured ‘not getting killed’ rather heavily, surely that would be the biggest change? – when Draco entered the room.

“Hi,” he said, then addressed the tiny bird swooping around his shoulders. “Hi, Felix.”

Turning back, he asked innocently, “does it answer to its name yet?”

“No,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. Harry did notice he transfigured a lamp into a bird swing, though, and the tiny puff of gold settled there quite happily.

“How’s Longbottom?” Draco asked. “Are we meant to call him Professor now? ‘Cause that’s kind of weird.” He flopped down in his chair, legs tangling with Harry’s as had become their habit.

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask him yourself,” Harry said, smiling to keep the accusation light.

“Mmmm,” Draco replied. His body stilled, retreated into itself a little. Harry recognised it as an automatic defence against whatever was happening. It still occurred when Draco was unsure, and Harry found himself aching for it to stop. He wanted Draco to trust him, to trust that his words were not meant to hurt, even in jest.

“I was there for rather a different reason,” Draco said. “I suppose he told you about it?”

“He told me some of it, yes,” Harry replied. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Draco’s eyebrows rose.

“I went to apologise,” he said quietly. He opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head.

Harry waited patiently, allowing Draco time to find his words.

“We both know what I was like, Harry.”

“I think Neville said you used the words ‘self-important douche-bag’,” Harry offered.

“Pretty accurate, don’t you think?”

Harry had to concede it was.

“I didn’t know anything else.” Draco said. “My whole life, I’d been told how much better I was than anyone. Especially Muggleborns.” Harry was impressed the other ‘M’ word hadn’t come out. Must be a different mental vocabulary, Harry thought. “Do you remember when we first met?”

“At Madame Malkin’s,” Harry replied immediately.

“I was trying to impress you,” Draco admitted. “You were the first person my own age I’d ever met without my parents there. The first person my age I’d ever tried to make friends with. And all I knew was that according to everyone I’d ever met, my father’s wealth and being in Slytherin were...enviable. Deserving of admiration and respect.”

Harry remembered the conversation. He’d felt like an idiot, having no idea what Malfoy was talking about most of the time.

“You thought Hagrid was a servant,” Harry said out loud.

“Yeah,” Draco said. “As far as I knew, if he worked at the school, he was a teacher or a servant.” He shrugged uncomfortably, and Harry saw a glimpse again of the self-loathing. “I didn’t know anything else.”

“Bit sheltered your life, then?” Harry asked, rubbing his foot up Draco’s shin.

“Little bit,” Draco admitted.

“Well, if it helps, you’re doing a pretty outstanding job of remedying that now,” Harry said. “Seriously.”

“Yeah,” Draco said, rubbing his hands together nervously.

Harry didn’t want to push it. Today had been intense enough.

“You know, this sofa’s big enough for two,” Harry said. “And I’ve noticed lately that you’re…a long way away. From me.”

“Am I?” Draco asked, his mouth twitching. He couldn’t hide the flush of pleasure when Harry took his hand and pulled him up and into a hug. They stood together for a long moment, swaying a little, before a sound interrupted them.

“Was that your stomach?” Harry asked.

“Maybe,” Draco replied, still hugging Harry. “I went to see Hagrid and he offered me the hardest rock cakes you’ve ever had in your life.”

“Yep,” Harry said, hoping Draco didn’t feel his heart swoop at the news that Draco had visited Hagrid. “That’d be his best recipe. Best to dunk them in your tea before risking a bite.”

Releasing Draco, he stepped back a little. “Dinner?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Draco replied, smiling at him.

+++

A two week stretch without a nightmare between them had lulled them into a sense of security. That night when Draco woke, shouting, Harry reached automatically for his wand. Before he could cast a spell, the snitch had burst open, spilling light to the roof, illuminating the room. Pretty handy, Harry thought as he stumbled across.

“Draco?” he asked, repeating the name until the blond woke up, breathing hard, eyes wild.

“Harry,” he breathed, reaching one shaking hand out.

“I’m here,” Harry said, climbing onto Draco’s bed without thinking, wrapping his arms around the trembling shoulders. Draco leaned into him as Harry rubbed his back, waiting for his ragged breathing to become slow and smooth again.

“Sorry,” Draco mumbled.

“We’re not going back to that, are we?” Harry asked. “Just let me-oh.” He saw a box of tissues, a glass of water and damp washcloth on Draco’s bedside table.

“Where did these come from?” Harry asked, picking up the washcloth. He offered it to Draco, then the water.

“Snitch,” Draco admitted. He drank some of the water, replacing it and the washcloth on the bedside table.

“Snitch? That snitch?” Harry asked, pointing to his snitch, still alight, hovering over his bed. It was emitting a quiet soothing hum Harry hadn’t noticed before.

“Yes,” Draco admitted, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “If the faerie song fails, it’s charmed to light up and provide this.” He waved one hand at the supplies beside his bed.

“You’re kidding,” Harry breathed.

“Obviously not,” Draco said, trying to smile through his still unsteady moue.

Impulsively, Harry cupped Draco’s chin, lifting it so he could kiss him. “Thank you,” he said.

He couldn’t explain how much he valued the thought that had gone into such a gift. Hopefully his kiss would do some of the explaining for him.

“Harry,” Draco said, as Harry made to return to his own bed. “Will you stay? Just for a bit.”

Harry stared at him, torn. While it sounded like heaven, sleeping with Draco in his arms, waking up right next to him…there were only ten days until the first of the other students returned. Harry had finally written to the Burrow, thanking Mrs. Weasley for her invitation and asking Ron and Hermione if they would come back a few days early.

They’d arranged it with McGonagall, and both would Apparate into Hogsmeade several days before the Hogwarts Express arrived. Ron had wanted to come earlier but Mrs. Weasley had insisted on a family dinner for Bill and Fleur the night before, apparently – Harry was glad he had not been there to hear the inevitable row.

“Draco,” Harry said, not answering Draco’s question, but settling cross-legged on the bed.

“Mmmm?” Draco answered.

Harry picked up Draco’s hand, running his fingertips down Draco’s fingers. Draco hummed at the touch, looking at Harry as he waited for the question.

“Have you thought about…when term starts?”

“You mean us,” Draco clarified.

“Yeah,” Harry replied. He was pleased Draco had not pulled his hand away. They’d made a lot of progress there in the last two weeks, and he could see the trust growing between them.

“I just…” Harry swallowed hard. “I mean, I don't want to not...do this. I'm not saying we shouldn't....but I don’t know what to do. About it. About how to do it. I just thought we should talk. About it.”

“We should,” Draco agreed. “Maybe tomorrow? I mean, after breakfast.”

“Sure,” Harry agreed readily. Thank Merlin Draco had understood his garbled explanation.

“And in the meantime,” Draco said, pulling Harry down to lie with him.

“Fine,” Harry huffed, knowing his reluctance would be as transparent as a Demiguise. Draco murmured at the snitch – which changed to the soft glow they usually used after a nightmare – and settled down beside Harry.

“We can’t do this, you know,” Harry whispered into the darkness. It made him sad, he realised. He pulled Draco tighter.

“I know,” Draco whispered back. Harry could feel his breath across the top of his head. “That’s why I want to do it now.”

+++

After breakfast, Draco and Harry made their way down to the kitchens. Kreacher was delighted to see Harry. The little knot of elves that gathered when they entered scattered immediately when Harry asked if they might have a picnic made up. It took only moments and he and Draco collected the basket, carrying it between them down to their common-room.

“How are we going to carry this?” Draco asked. They were planning on flying for a while and finding a good spot somewhere in the hills behind the lake to stop and picnic. And talk, but Harry wasn’t thinking about that.

“It’ll fit in here,” Harry said, pulling the mokeskin pouch out from around his neck.

“Is that mokeskin?” Draco asked as Harry made the huge picnic hamper fit inside the tiny pouch.

“Yeah,” Harry replied. He replaced the pouch under his t-shirt. “Ready to go?”

“Ready,” Draco declared.

Harry grabbed his broom and they stopped to pick up the Nimbus 2000 again before kicking off and heading out over the lake. The weather had been unrelentingly hot for almost a week, and Harry flew close to the surface, enjoying the water he kicked up as he flew. He saw Draco doing the same, the look of elation as he flew making Harry’s heart stutter.

It was a glorious day and they showed off to each other, diving and spinning until finally, Draco pointed to a secluded spot. Harry nodded, spiralling down to land. It was a flattish clearing, shaded on one side with a deep stream running along one side; it would be invisible to the outside world.

“Perfect,” Harry said, aware his voice was still too loud. It would settle once he’d been on the ground.

“Yeah,” Draco replied, dropping his broom and stalking towards Harry with a determined look. Harry met him equally fiercely in the middle of the clearing, the natural high of flying still coursing through his veins. They kissed hard, hands gripping t-shirts and tangling in hair.

“Ow!” Draco said, as Harry’s hands tugged on a knot of hair.

“I keep telling you,” Harry said, groaning as Draco ran his mouth down the side of Harry’s neck, “you should cut your hair.”

“Okay, okay,” Draco replied, between kisses.

Merlin, he was good at this, Harry thought. They’d become a lot more comfortable with each other in the last weeks, to the point Harry was frustrated that things hadn’t progressed…further. They’d kissed, of course – mouths and necks and every bit of exposed skin a decently dressed person showed. There had been a time or two on the sofa where Harry knew he could feel Draco’s arousal pressing into him, and he was sure Draco could feel his, too. Neither had pushed anything further, though, and Harry wondered where his breaking point was.

“You’re thinking too much,” Draco said, pressing the words into Harry’s skin.

“Thinking about you,” Harry replied breathlessly.

“I’m right here,” Draco said. “Whatever you’re thinking about, I probably am too.”

“Really,” Harry said, the breathlessness taking away somewhat from his scepticism.

“Oh yes,” Draco growled. Harry loved how single-minded Draco became when he knew they wouldn’t be interrupted. When he knew Harry was affected by him. That low growl was incredible, and Draco knew it. Harry almost, _almost_ wanted Draco to take control, to kiss him until he couldn’t speak and then…

And then, his Gryffindor courage failed him. His imagination did not, though the specifics were as vague as for any virgin. All he knew was he wanted more. More touching, more kissing, more skin. More of the exquisite sensation he felt when he showered, stroking himself until he came all over the wall. With Draco he instinctively knew it would be different, more intense – provided he had the nerve to instigate it.

But a challenge from Draco was something he’d never been able to turn down. He suspected sometimes that Draco did it on purpose, goading Harry into something he knew Harry wanted but would not ask for.

Clever scheming Slytherin, Harry thought. Thank Merlin, or I’d never have the guts. Without analysis, Harry’s fingers reached under Draco’s t-shirt. It was loose after their flying; Draco’s twisting had freed it, allowing cool air under to ease the hot skin.

Hot skin Harry was determined to get his hands on. He took hold of the fabric, twisting to kiss Draco again as he lifted it, pressing his hands to the smooth skin. He groaned, and Draco’s mouth went slack as he breathed in sharply.

Harry slid his hands upwards, curling over Draco’s shoulder blades.

“Off,” he panted, tugging, and Draco lifted his arms, the t-shirt skidding over them and dropping to the grass. They stood before each other, panting, Harry’s eyes roving hungrily over Draco’s skin. His breath caught when he saw the thin scars across Draco’s chest. Scars he had put there. His fingers twitched, desperate to touch.

“Please,” Draco whispered. “Please touch me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, there will be a week or so until the next chapter. I'll have a chance to really sit down next weekend and get a good chunk of this going, and I'll publish as soon as it's done. Thank you for all your kind words on this! <3


	12. Assistance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, patient people! Thank you so much for your patience with this story. I've been trying to lock in the later chapters, making sure there's stuff in here to support all that - trying to get it right for you all. Your love and comments are the wind beneath my wings <3  
> Also:  
> Thanks to Wishingforadventure - I love your comments, please feel free to continue.  
> Hoping this resurrects justagirlwithinternetaccess, whose ghost told me the last chapter left them dead. ;)

Harry touched. He stepped forwards, palms landing squarely on Draco’s chest and kissed him again, hard, the emotion almost overwhelming him. He pressed, feeling Draco’s heart thudding in his chest, able to discern the hard nubs of his nipples. Experimentally he dragged his hands down, scraping over the flesh.

“Merlin, Harry,” Draco gasped. He groaned as Harry did it again, pulling out of the kiss to drop his head, watching Harry’s hands hesitantly rubbing at his pecs.

Harry watched Draco’s face, fascinated that such a small touch could have such an impact. The feedback gave him the courage he’d lacked earlier and his nerves settled a little. He lightened his touch, running one finger tip over each nipple in turn until Draco grabbed at his wrist.

“Enough,” Draco gasped. He brought his head up and looked at Harry, pupils wide, eyelids lowered. “Your turn, I think.”

Harry nodded, tugging his own t-shirt over his head. It was odd to stand still while someone inspected him like this.

“Scar,” Draco murmured, running his fingertips over the ugly blotch in the middle of his chest.

“Locket,” Harry murmured. “Long story,” he whispered, and Draco nodded. He placed his hands on Harry’s waist, steadying him as he bent his head, touching his lips to the place the locket had seared Harry’s skin. The locket scar, smooth though it was, still burned; Draco’s mouth was like fire, and Harry found himself gripped Draco’s shoulders.

“Others?” Draco asked without raising his head.

“Snake,” Harry said quietly, touching the twin puncture marks on his arm. A second later Draco’s mouth touched the places, his tongue darting out to taste each spot of white.

“Umbridge.” The words on the back of his hand, covered momentarily while Draco pressed his lips to them as though his touch could fade the marks forever.

“Gringotts,” Harry said, a long wide burn under his ribs. There were others, but none were visible. Another time, perhaps…

“Dragon?”

“Doubling Charm,” he replied as Draco’s fingers skimmed the scar tissue. “Metal. Gold.” He felt his breath hitch as Draco dropped his head, brushing long blond strands out of the way as he kissed the place.

Harry drew a shaking breath. As arousing as this was, it was also emotional. He was sharing more than his skin with Draco. When the blond head rose at last, eyes lifting to the only scar Harry had not named, a wry smile passed over his lips.

“And this?” Draco asked, fingers tracing the lightning bolt. Harry flinched, the touch still strange without the burning pain he associated with Voldemort.

“You know,” he said.

Draco nodded sombrely and leaned in, kissing a spot just to the side, avoiding the place that had made Harry flinch.

“And you have these,” Harry said, pulling his eyes away from Draco’s, trailing his fingers down the white lines barely visible on his chest. The longest ran from over his collarbone nearly to his bellybutton. Harry’s fingers traced its length.

“From me,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s gone,” Draco said. “Forgotten.”

He raised his left arm, the huge angry scar glaring against his pale skin. “This is the one to be sorry about.”

“Does it hurt?” Harry asked, wincing at the childish words.

“Yes,” Draco replied simply.

Harry had a flash of memory, his own thumb rubbing into the spot as they stood in the Room of Requirement.

“I was touching it,” Harry said. “That day, in the Room. You should have told me.”

“I didn’t want you to let go,” Draco admitted. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“Yes it was,” Harry corrected him, certain he was lying.

“Yes, it was,” Draco agreed. He smiled sadly. “But it’s better than…the alternative.”

“The alternative?” Harry asked. Gently, Harry passed his fingertips over the skin, not touching, just tracing the shape. He raised his hand to his mouth, pressing kisses into his fingers and returning them to the air above Draco’s forearm. Draco’s head was bowed, and Harry could see him shaking.

Slowly, Harry lifted the same fingers to Draco’s mouth, tracing the shape of his lips, parting his own, smiling when Draco copied him, allowing him to slip fingertips inside. He ran the pads of his fingers along inner lip, watching, fascinated as Draco’s expression changed.

Carefully, Draco pulled his head back, allowing Harry’s hands to drop, capturing his mouth instead. Harry’s hand landed on Draco’s chest, forgotten for a moment as he dealt with the demanding kiss he was being drawn into. Having so much skin touching was incredible, Harry found. Not only could he feel Draco’s flesh under his fingers, but the sensation of Draco’s hands on his own body was electrifying. He could feel the exact shape of muscle and bone, the shifting as Draco pressed against him, restless.

Harry felt it too, the sparks gathering in his groin, the desire for more, even after this new expanse of skin had been given him. He pressed closer, feeling his stomach against Draco’s, the sharply drawn breath telling him Draco was as interested in this as he was. His confidence growing Harry ran his hands around Draco’s torso, sliding them down his back. His fingers caught on the waistband of Draco’s trousers.

Draco moaned, hips kicking forward.

Harry froze as his own hardness was met with another. Time slowed as they slid along each other, his hips acting of their own accord, chasing the sensation, pressing into Draco until they could get no closer.

“Salazar,” Draco choked, breathing hard, hands cupping Harry’s face.

Harry’s eyes were closed, but he could feel Draco trembling, holding himself still. Waiting. Was he waiting? Wanting to see that Harry was okay with this?

Slowly, deliberately, Harry rocked his hips forward again, knowing his breath was uneven as he ran his erection hard against Draco’s.

The sound Draco made was…incredible. It was almost a physical entity, caressing Harry all over as it coursed around them both, ramping up Harry’s arousal to almost unbearable levels.

Before he could form any words Draco was rutting against him too, gripping his shoulders, and Harry gripped Draco’s arse, holding on tight as he felt the tight knot in his pelvis wind and wind and wind until it burst from him, hips stuttering as wetness blossomed in his pants. Draco was still pressing, rubbing against him and breathing desperately into his neck.

Harry reached one hand between them, curling his fingers around Draco’s cock beneath his pants.

“Harry…oh, Mer-merlin…”

It was enough to send Draco over the edge, arms grasping around Harry as he rode the sensation, finally releasing him as the aftershocks eased.

The stillness felt sudden. For all the intensity of the last few (or many) minutes, Harry was very aware of the quiet. They had hardly been shouting, but the panting breaths, the pounding of his pulse and the few words each had spoken had been enough to fill his senses.

Not to mention the blinding orgasm. As he realised it, Harry felt himself blush. He and Ginny had kissed; a few prolonged hugs perhaps, slightly wandering hands on both sides, but with her it had been soft and comforting. He’d certainly never had an orgasm with her, and he was pretty sure she hadn’t with him.

So. First time, then. He wondered suddenly if Draco had ever…given his father’s propensity for controlling Draco’s life, it would mean it was with someone Harry knew. The idea sat oddly with him. The longer he thought about it, the more uncomfortable he became, until he saw the sensation for what it was. A deeper version of the jealousy that had hit him when he’d seen Ginny and Dean, years ago at Hogwarts. That had been a child’s jealousy – you have what I want.

This, though. This was deeper, an envy Harry had never experienced quite in this way. It wasn’t the physical contact he resented, but the notion that Draco had shared himself with someone else at this level. That he had trusted someone, shared his body at such a vulnerable time.

Bloody hell, Harry thought. I am in this far deeper than I thought.

“Harry?” Draco’s voice was tentative. He still held Harry, arms looser now. Harry wondered if he was hiding his face.

“Yeah?” Harry replied.

“Was that…I mean, was it okay?” Draco asked.

“Brilliant,” Harry said firmly, hugging Draco tighter.

The arms around him tightened too, and Harry closed his eyes, enjoying the moment. It felt safe, so he took a deep breath and admitted, “First time I’ve…you know. With someone.”

“Really?” Draco asked.

“Yeah,” Harry replied. He didn’t ask, but the question hung in the air anyway.

“I have,” Draco said carefully, “but not with…”

“A guy?” Harry asked.

“A Gryffindor,” Draco corrected, and Harry could feel the smile against his neck.

“Oi!” Harry retorted, pushing away a little so he could look at Draco’s face. They stood for a few moments, looking at each other, adjusting to the new experience. The embarrassment Harry felt was mirrored on Draco, to his relief.

“A guy,” Draco amended once more. “I’ve never fully,” he took a deep breath and his eyes closed and cheeks flushed as he said quickly, “I’ve had a couple of…helping hands. Never anything more. With anyone.”

Harry nodded. He appreciated Draco’s honesty. It eased his mind, and the green monster in his chest was mollified.

“Well I don’t know about you but I could do with a cleaning spell,” Harry said, shifting uncomfortably as his pants stuck to him.

Draco grinned, as Harry hoped he would, and the awkward atmosphere was gone. “No problem,” he said, taking his wand from his pocket and pointing it at Harry’s groin. A cheeky grin, a muttered spell and Harry was a lot more comfortable.

“Never thought I’d say thanks after you casting a spell in my pants,” Harry joked as Draco cleaned himself up with the same spell.

“So many missed opportunities,” Draco replied. They both slipped their t-shirts back on, Harry reaching for a kiss once they were done. The casual contact was comforting after such a shared intense experience.

“Right now I’d like an opportunity to eat, I’m starving,” Harry said. “And don’t forget the point of all this.”

“I thought that was the point of all this,” Draco protested, waving a hand between them.

“Merlin, don’t tell me you’re going to start making jokes about that all the time,” Harry groaned.

“No, I’m not,” Draco replied. His smile faded a bit as he took a sandwich from the basket and handed it to Harry. “And I haven’t forgotten why we’re here.”

Once they were settled on the picnic rug, Harry said, “So have you thought about it?”

Draco shrugged. “Kind of hard not to.” He examined his sandwich pensively. “I…I don’t think I’m going to be very popular.”

“I’m hoping to tip the balance on that a bit,” Harry replied.

“Are you?” Draco asked, his face serious. “Because I would understand if you wanted to keep this, us, if there is an us…” He shrugged again. “Keep it quiet.” A huffed laugh, a false smile… “Or not at all.”

“Jeez, Draco,” Harry said. He abandoned his sandwich, scooting over to sit right next to Draco, taking his hand. It trembled as he enfolded it with his own. “Look, I’m not very good at saying all this, so I’m not going to think too hard about it.” He took a deep breath. “I am not thinking we should stop seeing each other. I am not thinking we should keep it quiet. I meant it when I said I’m going to try and tip the balance. Ron and Hermione are coming a few days early,” Draco stiffened at the news, “I’m going to talk to them. Probably more than once, Ron’s pretty stubborn.”

He could still feel Draco’s body sitting bolt upright beside him. “Look, it will give them a chance to talk to Hagrid too, and Neville.” He stroked Draco’s fingers in his. “I can’t promise they’ll want to talk to you. But I can let them know,” another deep breath, an unexpected flutter in his stomach, “I can let them know how important you are to me. And they can live with it, or not.”

“You’d give up their friendship for me?” Draco sounded disbelieving.

“I don’t…look, I’m not thinking of it like that. Merlin, when you put it like that it does sound serious.” Harry ruffled one hand through his hair. “I know Hermione. And I know Ron. And I think that they will both, at the very least, give it a chance, stop open hostilities, whatever you want to call it.”

“You really think you can convince them to sit down and talk to me.”

“Maybe not,” Harry said. “But I can convince them to sit down and not be nasty. And then you and I can talk, and completely ignore them, and I bet you a thousand Galleons they’ll be listening to every word and watching every bit of it.” He shrugged. “We’ll leave it up to them. They can start talking to you, or keep ignoring you, but one way or the other, they’re going to have to accept that you are here.”

“They’ll never like me.” Draco sounded miserable.

“Look, they might not,” Harry agreed. He felt Draco’s head rise to look at him, amazement on his face. “Well, they might not. But if they don’t, I want it to be because they don’t actually like _you,_ the person you are now.” He shrugged. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t please all the people all the time. There will always be someone that doesn’t like you and you can’t make them.” He turned Draco’s face to look at him. “All you can do is be you. The rest is up to them.” He smiled. “And me, a bit.”

Draco nodded, though his face was still doubtful.

“Do you really think…” he paused, looking down at their hands. “Are you sure this is what you want, Harry?”

To Harry’s surprise, he felt a swell of emotion. There were precious few times in his life he’d been asked that question, especially by someone concerned for his wellbeing. He cleared his throat, buying himself a little time to answer normally.

“A little less blind hatred in the world?” he said. “Yes please.”

“But I mean,” Draco said, “Are you sure you want to…do this with me. I mean,” he rushed on before Harry could reply, “you could do the whole ‘see how he’s changed’ thing without,” he waved one hand between the two of them.

“No,” Harry said thoughtfully, “I don’t think I could.”

He let the words hang there for a few moments before leaning in to kiss Draco again.


	13. Support

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone.  
> If you’ve been waiting for this chapter, thank you very much for your patience. I am so grateful for everyone who has supported it so far.  
> I’ve had to think about whether or not I’d continue writing this story after some quite negative comments deflated my enthusiasm for this ship. In the end my own desire to continue this story won out, along with the lovely support I have received along the way. Constructive feedback is one thing, nasty pointlessness is quite another.  
> I’d hope readers choosing a story marked ‘Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy’ would comprehend that at some point both Harry and Draco would have to get past the events in canon if they are going to get together. Given what happened, it’s going to take a lot of understanding and forgiveness on both sides.  
> Apparently not.
> 
> So please forgive my frankness when I say this:  
> If you don’t like this story, or don’t think the way in which the relationship develops is realistic, that’s fine (but remember they’re fictional to begin with and this is amateur fan writing).  
> If you want to leave me feedback about it, be polite. It’s called tact. Remember I’ve spent dozens of hours on this, and you’re reading it for free. There’s no obligation to read it all, and certainly none to enjoy it.  
> If you can’t say anything nice, just move on, find a story you like, and have a good life.
> 
> If you’re still here, thank you. I do actually hope you enjoy my efforts to explore this lovely ship. 
> 
> <3 Blue

The rest of the afternoon was quiet and calm. They took full advantage of the secluded space, kissing and talking. It felt like Draco needed reassurance more than anything, so Harry didn’t push for more. Watching Draco lick mayonnaise from his fingers had left him quite eager, though, and it was sheer force of will that kept him from rolling Draco close and showing him how distracted Harry actually was.

It was nice, he had to admit, lying outside, eat and talking, touching without wondering if they were being watched. When term started there would be people everywhere, even the places he thought of as theirs. Plus they would be studying all the time, if his last academic year was anything to go by, and there was Quidditch, to watch if not train for. Days like today would be rare indeed.

A small part of him wondered if they would be able to cope. He and Draco were close; he felt calmer and more centred when Draco was near. No matter what either of them did, even if they ignored each other completely, the year was going to be difficult, and while they had spent a lot of time together, little of it had been with other people around.

Everyone had been scarred by the War. Many of the senior students had been here for the Battle; most had seen people die, some had killed Death Eaters. Many more had lost family or friends. Everyone had lost someone, and Draco could very well remind others of that just by his presence. It would be as bad as when Harry was suspected of opening the Chamber of Secrets, or putting his name in the Goblet of Fire. Whispers, taunts, cruel spells. Dirty looks, conversations that ended when he walked past. In a way, Harry hoped for that passive dislike. The alternative was far less pleasant, and that was assuming there was no feedback from the public once news of Draco’s presence and his relationship with Harry came to light. He hoped McGonagall was prepared to screen the post for Howlers, in his name as well as Draco’s.

Funnily, the knowledge of how bad it could be only made Harry more determined to support Draco. Without Ron and Hermione his own experiences would have been unbearable. Even those weeks when Ron thought he had put his name in the Goblet, and later, when he left as they chased and were chased across the countryside seeking Horcruxes… Harry didn’t like to think about it.

Draco was going to need that kind of support. Harry was nowhere near as confident in his ability to convince Ron and Hermione to listen to Draco as he’d made out. There was a good chance he was going to have to Hex Ron just to get him to sit in the same room as Draco.

Ron was stubborn, but he was also grieving. In his mind, all Death Eaters were responsible for Fred’s death, and Draco was a Death Eater. Pain and rage were easier to maintain when you had somewhere to direct it.

Harry was banking on their friendship being strong enough for Ron to trust him, even for only one night. He also hoped Hermione, by far the most logical of all of them, would want to see Draco before making up her mind. She would never _like_ Draco, Harry anticipated, but if she could tolerate him, and help Harry convince Ron to do the same…they might all reach some kind of accord. It was probably the most he could hope for in the circumstances.

It would be a very difficult year indeed if Harry, Ron and Hermione couldn’t sit in their common room together. Harry wondered briefly who he would chose, if the ultimatum was laid out. Would he really leave Ron and Hermione for Draco? Or would he be the kind of man that would drop his boyfriend because his friends told him to?

The thoughts plagued Harry over the next couple of days. He and Draco spent more and more time wrapped together, conscious of the time passing, though neither mentioned it. Harry wondered if it weighed as heavily on Draco’s mind as on his.

Returning from lunch with Hagrid, Harry watched Draco read by the window in their common room. He felt his heart curl with affection at the unconscious nervous habits still evident. The curtain of hair falling over Draco’s face must obscure his vision, Harry thought with gentle exasperation.

“You need a haircut,” Harry said to him from the doorway. He’d just received an owl, a package he’d sent for the day they’d gone flying; he’d been waiting impatiently and couldn’t wait a second more. “And happy birthday,” he said.

Draco looked up, surprised. “It’s not my birthday,” he said.

“I know,” Harry shrugged. “But you spoiled me for mine, and this is something you could definitely use.” He watched as Draco opened the packaging.

“Wow,” Draco said, holding up the razor, peering at the matching pair of scissors. “Harry, you didn’t have to-”

He was cut off with a kiss, Harry’s mouth covering his own for a long moment. It was familiar and easy now, after so much time together; Harry breathed Draco in for a moment before gently separating himself so he could speak.

“They’re enchanted. Pick one up, and it’ll cut your hair, or shave you. You tell it what you want, just be clear,” Harry told him.

“What, right now?” Draco asked.

Harry nodded, grinning. “Shave first, then a haircut.”

“Seriously?” Draco said, eyeing the razor nervously.

“Yes,” Harry told him. “Go on.”

“Um,” Draco addressed the razor. “I…I’d like a shave. Please.”

“Precise,” Harry hissed.

“Um, no sideburns or anything,” he added as the razor rose toward his face.

Harry smirked as Draco closed his eyes, holding still as the razor moved smoothly over his face. The smirk relaxed into a smile as the scruffy beard disappeared, leaving a smooth faced Draco in its place. It really was a good buy, Harry thought, tilting his head to see Draco’s jawline. Not a nick or a stray hair in sight, and his alabaster skin was still pale, not a hint of razor burn.

“Finally, I can do this without risking a rash,” Harry said, cupping Draco’s face and kissing him soundly. It was returned with interest, and he had to peel himself away in the end.

“I hate shaving,” Draco grumbled. He rubbed one hand across his jaw. “I’d rather a few days stubble.”

“You can always grow it back,” Harry assured him. He grinned. “Not like I’m going to stop kissing you either way.”

Draco smiled, his eyes resting on Harry’s, radiating pleasure from the small comment. Watching Draco’s face change as he spoke was addictive, feeling the contentment he tentatively allowed to show on his face made Harry feel…wonderful.

What had started as Harry’s determination to reassure Draco had turned around on him. It was completely selfish, but he couldn’t stop.

Pulling himself back, Harry tugged gently on the long strands of Draco’s hair. “Hair now?”

Draco was still for a moment, before nodding hesitantly.

“What are you thinking you want?” Harry asked.

“Something different,” Draco replied. “Different from…school.”

Harry could understand that. He wondered how much influence Lucius had imposed on his growing son’s hairstyle. Probably far too much, he thought.

“Shorter, then?” Harry asked. He cast his mind back to the image of Draco before the War. His hair had been long enough to sweep back from his face.

“Not too short,” Draco said, alarm on his face. “Not…spiky. Or anything.”

“Okay,” Harry said, dropping a kiss on his nose. The fluffy moment was predictably broken by Draco’s huff, exactly as Harry had anticipated. Reassurance, again. He passed the scissors to Draco. “Go on, tell it what you want, then.”

“Um, a haircut?” Draco said tentatively. “Of course I do, you’re a pair of scissors.” He scowled at Harry, who had broken into laughter at this last comment.

“Okay, um, I want it kind of shorter than this. But not too short. Not spiky short. Shorter on the sides and at the back, but not shaved.” Draco stopped talking, grimacing at Harry as the scissors began cutting.

“Yeah, it’s all funny when it’s me,” Draco said half an hour later, smirking as the last strands of Harry’s haircut drifted to the floor. He’d been so pleased with the new look that Harry had not escaped, and, he had to admit, looking into the mirror in the bathroom, it was better.

“Not bad,” Harry allowed. He turned to Draco. “Are you really going to let it grow out a bit?” He touched one smooth cheek with his forefinger.

“Yes,” Draco said firmly. “It wasn’t an option…before, so now I kinda want to see what it looks like.”

“Well it can’t be worse that the scruff you had going before,” Harry teased.

“Managed to get you interested, didn’t I?” Draco shot back.

“Hey!” Harry protested.

“I’m kidding,” Draco said contritely. “No idea how I did that, actually.”

“You were just…you,” Harry said, smiling into his eyes. It was nice to be able to see his face properly. He ducked his head to plant a kiss on the side of Draco’s face, but came away with a handful of short hairs stuck to him. “Urgh, we’re both still covered in hair.”

“We need a shower,” Draco said without thinking.

Harry felt him freeze, his own brain catching up a second later. He felt his heart beating fast as he considered the implications.

Was Draco suggesting they shower together? Judging by his reaction, probably not. The idea was…kind of confronting, but only because the idea of seeing Draco naked lead to a host of other things. Ideas. Images in his brain.

“I mean,” Draco was saying, “we should each have a shower.”

“Or,” Harry said, swallowing hard, “we could have a shower. Together.”

The idea wasn’t completely foreign – the showers in the Quidditch rooms had no doors, so the boys had always glimpsed each other after matches. He had always wondered if the girls’ changing rooms were the same but it had seemed weird to ask.

Showering together, though…with someone he was allowed to kiss. Someone who kissed him, and touched him, and as obviously aroused by the idea of him naked too, based on the sudden shift of Draco’s hips away from his.

“We could,” Draco said. They both looked over at the huge shower.

Harry frowned. “Last time I checked it was just a regular shower…”

“Yeah…”

A thought occurred to Harry, and he thought about the fancy shampoo one of the girls at the Burrow used.

It appeared in the corner.

“It’s like the Room of Requirement!”

Draco looked at him, confused. “What?”

“The shower is bigger because we need it to be bigger. Look, I thought about this and it just appeared!” he held up the shampoo bottle. “Wow, this is some serious magic, getting this to happen.”

Draco looked at Harry, then the shower, and back to Harry. “I hope there’s plenty of hot water.”

+++

The next day they were sitting on the sofa, flicking through the school books they’d picked up earlier from Diagon Alley. Harry had given Draco his Cloak, brushing off his protests. The tension on Draco’s face had appeared as soon as the owls had delivered their letters that morning, and Harry had immediately gone to his trunk and taken out the smooth fabric.

Draco had frowned before realising what it was, opening his mouth to protest. Harry beat him to it, wrapping the cloak around Draco’s shoulders and pulling him into a hug.

“Harry, I-” he started, but Harry cut him off.

“Don’t,” he said. “I know. Just wear it, okay.”

Draco shuffled, arms still tight around Harry. Harry was in no rush; he could stand here and hold Draco for as long as he needed. He closed his eyes, breathing the moment in, marvelling that he was able to give Draco what he needed. Comfort. Support.

“I’ll have to go and see McGonagall,” Draco whispered. Confused, Harry tried to pull back and look at him, but Draco held him tight. He’s ashamed, Harry thought. Why would he need to go and see…oh, of course.

Money. Books and ingredients cost money, and Draco had none.

“Don’t,” Harry said. He didn’t move, didn’t want to push Draco, but this was something else he could do for Draco, something as easy as the hug, when it came down to it. “Don’t see McGonagall. Don’t worry about it.”

Draco shook his head. “I couldn’t, Harry.”

Harry felt a swirl of emotion as he bit his lip. Frustration, that he couldn’t help, that Draco couldn’t accept his help. Should he push it? This was important to Draco, he knew, and he wanted to be supportive.

“I won’t stop you from seeing McGonagall,” Harry said carefully. “But I want you to know…I mean, my parents left me money, and my Godfather too. There’s enough. More than enough.”

There was silence for a few moments and Harry wondered if Draco had heard him.

“Okay,” Draco said. “I’m still going to see McGonagall. But…thank you.”

“Okay.” Harry pressed a kiss to Draco’s temple, and they separated. “Do you want to go today? It doesn’t look like great flying weather.”

“Sure,” Draco said. “I’ll go after lunch.”

Diagon Alley had been busy, and Harry wished he’d owned two Cloaks. The attention he’d garnered before disappearing to Hogwarts was nothing compared to this. It didn’t help there were so many students there collecting their school supplies – from the same shops Draco and Harry had to visit.

After the fifth student had stopped Harry to talk to him, Draco had grabbed his arm, pulling him into a niche opposite Knockturn Alley.

“Harry…can I meet you somewhere?” His voice seemed to be coming out of nowhere, and Harry was trying hard to look casual – and alone. “This is just…there are a lot of people here.”

“You keep getting stood on, don’t you,” Harry asked him. He remembered what it was like in a busy place – just about impossible to get around unnoticed for long.

When there was no reply he grinned. “You’re nodding, aren’t you?” Subtly, he held out one hand at hip height. To his relief Draco’s hand sneaked into his, pressing against his palm.

“Meet me at the Ice-Creamery?” Harry asked. “Give me your list, you can pay me back later.” Parchment was pressed into his hand.

“Give me an hour or so,” Harry said. “If I’m not back in three hours, I’ll meet you back at school.” A squeeze to his hand was all the reply he received. It was odd to know someone was gone when you hadn’t been able to see them in the first place.

Squaring his shoulders, Harry sent a mental apology out, pulled a scowl on his face, and headed back out like a man on a mission. An hour. He could do this in an hour.

+++

He could do it in an hour, as it turned out, as long as he made no eye contact and kept his answers to the shopkeepers short. It wasn’t his usual personality, but it was efficient and didn’t leave him cringing at the end.

When he finally made it to Fortescue’s, laden down with bags, he didn’t need anything to tell him Draco was close.

“You ready?” he asked the air quietly, knowing Draco was there. He headed down Knockturn Alley a few paces and Apparated to a spot just outside the Hogwarts boundary.

As soon as he landed he dropped the bags, looking around for Draco. A second of nothing except the worried thought that he might have been wrong and left Draco behind, before a voice from behind made him exhale.

“How the hell did you know I was there?” Draco asked, pulling the Cloak off.

Harry smiled and stepped towards him. He hadn’t realised how strange it had been to walk around, knowing Draco was close but not being able to see him. It still took a second to get used to, especially with the new haircut and clean shaven cheeks.

“That’s my favourite cologne,” he said, bringing Draco close and kissing his neck, breathing deeply. “I could smell it.”

“What, even in Diagon Alley?” Draco asked.

“Even there,” Harry agreed. He pulled back, studying Draco’s face. It had changed every day as he’d steadfastly refused to shave.

“You should keep this like this,” he said, rubbing fingertips over Draco’s cheek. “It really suits you.”

“Thanks,” Draco replied. He touched his own face. “I do like it like this.”

They smiled, until Harry shifted uncomfortably, a drop of sweat sliding down his back. “Merlin, it’s hot today. Let’s get back up to the common room.” He charmed the bags to follow them, stuffing his Cloak in on top of his new Dragonskin gloves.

They’d sorted out the books and other things, Draco insisting on giving Harry the money for his share, before he started to read _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7_ , Felix settled on his head. Harry sighed and took out his own copy. He was a little reluctant to admit how close the start of term was, but Draco had clearly settled himself in for an afternoon engrossed in the new text. Harry knew he should too; he would need all the motivation he could get this year.

It would be weird not to have someone after him this year. No evil plots, no weird dreams or twinging scars. Just the usual stuff: homework, Quidditch, friends. Boyfriend. Being more famous than he wanted to be. Defending his boyfriend from everyone, probably.

The usual.

A little grin came over him as he considered how weird his normal was. At least he could cross ‘mortal danger’ off his list this year. Hopefully.

He’d just started chapter three (Advanced Non-Verbal Spells) when a Patronus leapt through their window. It was a cat with distinctive marks around its eyes. He waited for it to speak.

“I would appreciate it if you would come to my office, Mister Potter,” the cat said in Professor McGonagall’s voice. “The Floo connection is open.”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry replied, and the cat disappeared back out of the window. He looked over at Draco. His expression was…apprehensive?

“D’you know what she wants?” Harry asked.

“Um,” Draco said, closing his book. “I mean, she spoke to me when I went to visit this morning. I wondered if she wanted to see you too.”

“What did she say?” Harry asked. He tried to stop his heart sinking, but it was hard with so many disastrous scenarios popping up in his mind. Surely she wouldn’t tell them they couldn’t…

Draco had shrugged at his question. “She wanted to ask about you and me. About the start of term.”

Harry stared. “Right.” He wanted to know what Draco had said to her, but maybe it would be better not to know. “I’d better go.” There was an awkwardness between them now, hanging in the air, and with a sudden burst of insight, Harry knew Draco was panicking. He turned from the fireplace where he’d been about to Floo up to the Headmistress’ office. Draco was looking at his book again but Harry would bet he wasn’t even seeing the page. Harry took the book, tilted Draco’s chin up and kissed him.

“Back soon,” he said, infusing his words with as much affection as he could manage. Draco smiled back, though Harry wasn’t convinced.

Harry filled his pocket with Floo powder, then tossed a handful into the grate and stepped into the green flames.

“Headmistress’ office,” Harry said clearly. The last thing he saw was Draco’s anxious eyes watching him go.

A moment later he stepped out, careful to stand still for a second before looking around the familiar room.

“Good afternoon, Potter,” Professor McGonagall greeted him. She was sitting at her desk, looking severe, and Harry swallowed. He didn’t know what the best scenario was, but ‘sitting behind her desk’ was not the most friendly possibility in Harry’s mind.

“Good afternoon,” Harry replied, sitting opposite her. He was relieved to see a tea service and a plate of cakes; surely it couldn’t be all that bad.

“I assume you know why you’re here,” Professor McGonagall asked Harry.

“I’m not sure,” Harry replied, nodding when she offered him tea with milk. “I mean, I know you and Draco spoke this morning.”

“We did,” she said. “I had planned to speak to you both before the beginning of term anyway.”

Harry felt his heart beating fast. He accepted his tea, but left it on the desk. Apart from the shaking hands, he had no idea if his stomach would be okay with him drinking anything.

Professor McGonagall sipped from her own teacup before speaking again. “It is obvious you took my earlier advice regarding Draco Malfoy,” she said. Satisfaction was evident in her voice.

Harry nodded.

“You two have been spending a lot of time together in fact,” she continued, her tone softening. When Harry nodded again, she pressed him. “It is obvious to anyone with eyes that you and Mister Malfoy have become close.”

“Yes,” Harry managed.

“I don’t mean to pry, Potter, but I must ask if you and he are…” she paused, “seeing one another.”

“We are,” Harry replied, his face heating at the admission. He braced for her words of censure.

“You both look happy,” she said, to Harry’ immense surprise.

“We are,” he said warily.

Professor McGonagall sighed. “It’s not a common situation, but it does happen, Harry.” The use of his first name threw him a little, before he realised she wasn’t condemning them.

“So…why did you want to see me?” Harry asked.

“With the recent history, there are other things to consider,” Professor McGonagall went on. “Mister Malfoy is as welcome as any other student, however there may be some…friction with others.”

“Yeah, we know,” Harry told her. When she didn’t reply, he added, “I know he’s spoken to Neville and Hagrid, they’re both okay with him. Enough to get on with, at least. And Ron and Hermione are coming a few days early, I guess you already know that.”

“Yes, their owl arrived several days ago,” she said. “Have you explained the situation to Weasley and Granger?”

“No,” Harry admitted. The words hadn’t come when he’d tried to explain on parchment. “I need to see them.”

“I can’t imagine it will be easy,” Professor McGonagall said quietly.

“No,” Harry said. “But,” he swallowed, “things worth doing aren’t always easy.”

She looked at him, and the hint of a smile crossed her face. Harry had the distinct impression she was pleased with him.

“Well, onto more practical matters, then,” she said, and the atmosphere changed as she resumed the brisk business like manner he was used to.

“Will it be appropriate for you and Mister Malfoy to continue to share the boys’ dormitory, or do we need to make alternative arrangements?”

Harry’s face burned with embarrassment as he realised what she was asking. “I think…it will be fine,” he choked. When she raised an enquiring eyebrow he added, “I think it’s better if we’re in the same dormitory as everyone else. I don’t want people to think we’re hiding.”

“We, Potter?”

Harry’s heart thudded. “Yes, Professor.”

“So you’ll be supporting Draco this year, then.”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry said again, holding her eyes. This felt important. This was why she had wanted to see him, to check he had Malfoy’s back.

She studied him for a dozen heartbeats until a glimmer of approval appeared.

“Good,” she said finally. “I believe the start of this year will be…difficult.”

“I’m used to difficult, Professor,” Harry told her.

“Indeed you are,” she replied. Holding his gaze for a moment she nodded to herself. “You haven’t drunk your tea, Potter.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Harry mumbled.

“Off you go then,” she said. “And you let me know if Mister Malfoy is being harassed.”

“Of course, Professor,” Harry said, hearing the dismissal in her voice. He Floo’ed back to the common room, head whirling as he stepped out, and not just from the journey.

Draco was sitting exactly where Harry had left him. Harry walked over and pulled him up into a hug immediately, wanting the contact as much for himself as for Draco this time. He pressed into Draco, loving the arms that pulled him close.

“Merlin,” he breathed. They stood for a long time, holding each other, until Harry blinked.

“D’you want to know what she said?” Harry offered. Draco nodded, so Harry talked through the whole conversation. He hadn’t let go of Harry’s hand. When Harry reached the part when Professor McGonagall had said it would be difficult, fingers squeezed his; he squeezed right back. Draco’s face flushed when he recounted her question about their sleeping arrangements.

“Salazar,” Draco groaned.

“I know,” Harry agreed. “I told her it would be fine. I think it will be better if we’re here. People might think we’re hiding otherwise.”

“We?” Draco asked.

“Well, yeah,” Harry said. “If you’re gonna have your own room, realistically I’m going to end up there a lot, right?”

Draco kissed him, hard and fast.

“So I guess that means we’ll have to find time for ourselves,” Draco murmured.

“We will,” Harry agreed. He looked down at their intertwined hands. “It will be easier for people to see you if you’re around, you know?” Draco nodded, eyebrows drawing together at the thought. “I know,” Harry said, “it won’t be easy. But I’ll be here. Pretty sure you’ll be sick of me soon,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

“Never,” Draco replied.


End file.
